UnMasqued: Son of M&M 'Little Shop' fic
by kLyn
Summary: Sequel to Masques. Michael finds out he's not quite who--or what-- he thought.
1. Chapter 1

--Disclaimer: Oh, come on. You don't really think that Michael, Maria and all the other characters from the Roswell books and show are mine, do you? They belong to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims and the good folks at the WB network. I'm only borrowing them.  
  
I do own Bob, Teddy, and assorted other people who you don't recognize from the TV show. 

--Distribution: Ask first, please. 

--Author's Notes: This is the sequel to my story "Masques", and starts up about about a week and a half after it, in later November, 2000. It's an alternative Season Two story, so nothing that was broadcast during seasons two or three applies. Michael's hair is still spiky. And his apartment is much smaller than Season Two would have us believe. 

Special thanks to everyone at the Random Roswell Ramblings fanfiction board who gave me such great support and feedback, and to my sister who allowed herself be subjected to the story, chapter by chapter, debating plot points, characterizations, and grammar. Thanks, sis!  
  
  


  
  
  


**_PROLOGUE_**  


The dreams still came, over and over throughout the nights, startling him awake and leaving him staring dull-eyed up at the ceiling. They grew out of his usual nightmares, swirling him off to a place where there was nothing around him except for the voice. It was the same voice, shatteringly familiar in its tone. It sounded like an enemy, a woman now dead. Once an accusation, its message now was one of forewarning. The word was the same, but the meaning was entirely different. 

Killer.  
  
  


**_CHAPTER 1_**  


Maria DeLuca absolutely floated down the hallway of West Roswell High. Never mind that it was Monday, her absolutely least favorite day of the week. Never mind that it was a gray, gloomy day, unusual for Roswell, New Mexico. Never mind that the DeLuca family Jetta was once again experiencing technical difficulties and she'd had to walk to school that morning. And definitely never mind the major History test scheduled for the end of the week. 

What did any of that matter? It was her first day of freedom after an intense twenty-three day period of grounding, school was over for the day, and she was on the way to meet her somewhat anti-social--and surprisingly complex--boyfriend. What more could a high school junior ask for? 

Her happiness swelled up and burst out in a joyful giggle, so boisterous that she clapped a hand over her own mouth to stifle it. But she couldn't control the sparkle in her eyes or the lightness of her soul as she mentally repeated the word. Boyfriend. She could actually use that term in reference to Michael Guerin. She was in a relationship with Michael Guerin. And if pressed, he might even admit it. 

She actually hadn't seen that much of him since they'd gotten back together ten days earlier. Her grounding and his unofficial banning from the Crashdown Café where Maria worked had pretty much limited their contact to school hours. And Michael was being unusually circumspect in his behavior around her. Sure, except for one clinch in the school hallway during their sophomore year, he'd never been one for public affection--years of hiding the fact that he was an alien hadn't exactly left him open--but he hadn't even taken advantage of the school's most notorious private make-out spot, the eraser room. Other than the heart-stoppingly wonderful kiss after he'd told Maria he wanted to be with her, he'd kept his lips to himself. 

In fact, if you didn't know Michael, you might not even realize that they were a couple. But he had spoken to her before and after each of the two classes they shared daily, and he'd sat next to her at lunch every day at school. She hadn't even had to ask him. He'd done it on his own, and that, for Michael Guerin, was a whole heck of a lot. 

The only thing that had come between them during the past week was the Thanksgiving holiday. Maria had badly wanted to spend the day with Michael, but of course her grounding got in the way of that, too. She had spent five days begging and pleading, to her mother's great annoyance. Amy DeLuca had finally unbent enough to offer her daughter a choice: a Thanksgiving with just the two DeLucas, or an extra week of house arrest. Maria actually took some time to consider the proposition, but after much internal debate she finally opted for a faster end to her punishment, and she and her mother spent a quiet but pleasant Thanksgiving together. 

Maria had been somewhat mollified to find out that Michael's best friend, Max Evans, and Max's sister Isabel had extended their annual invitation for Michael to spend the holiday with them. It didn't really surprise anyone when Michael turned them down again. He claimed he'd been scheduled to work the entire day at the Lift-Off gas station since he was the only employee with no family, but Maria suspected that he'd volunteered for the extra-long shift. Not because he particularly cared about the other employees' holiday plans, but because it was difficult for him to watch families celebrate together. And the double-time holiday pay wouldn't hurt either. 

Like Michael, Max and Isabel were aliens, but they'd been adopted into a loving family and raised just like normal human beings. Of course, since Mr. and Mrs. Evans had absolutely no idea that aliens existed, much less that their two children were alien-human hybrids, that wasn't really unexpected. 

Michael, on the other hand, had been shunted from foster home to foster home until he'd been dumped into the 'loving care' of Hank, an abusive drunk who'd taken out many of his problems on the defenseless boy. Hank had disappeared last year; Michael, finally free from years of secret beatings, now had emancipated minor status, an (albeit shabby) apartment of his own, and--Maria almost danced at the thought--a loving and feisty human girlfriend in the person of one Maria DeLuca. 

Stopping off at her locker, Maria grabbed her math textbook and piled it on top of the History book she was holding. Not that she expected to get a whole lot of studying in during her first afternoon off of house arrest, but she knew better than to show up at home with no books. Then she headed off down the hall towards Michael's locker, to meet him. 

On any normal day, she wouldn't have had to meet him at all, since they shared the last class of the day; today, however, Michael had been called out of class by Vice Principal Sutter and had just enough time to mutter, "After school. My locker," before following the man out of the classroom. A small crease appeared in Maria's forehead, only slightly marring her joyful expression. What had the VP wanted with Michael? 

A familiar little tingle deep down inside told her that her boyfriend--and an answer to that last question--was near. Rounding the corner, she saw him leaning on his closed locker, paying no attention to the students who filled the hall around him. He had a blank look on his face as he seemingly stared at the wall across from him, but Maria knew him well enough to know his thoughts were elsewhere. Either that, or he had regressed back to the moments of forced abstraction that had been plaguing him just a few weeks ago... 

He turned his head and caught her eye, and she gave a small sigh of relief. Nope, he'd just been thinking about something, that's all. Not a big deal. Walking up to him, she planted herself firmly in front of him. "Hey, Michael," she said. 

He returned his usual laconic greeting. "Hey." 

She stood for a moment looking up at him. He wasn't conventionally handsome, not in that movie-star kind of way, but he was tall and strong and determined, and to her he was beautiful. He would kill her if he knew she used that particular word about him; Michael could be just as touchy as any other guy. But it was a good one. And from the looks he was getting from some of the other female students passing by, Maria wasn't the only one who thought he was attractive. 

Huh. One of the glances coming their way wasn't at all appreciative, and it wasn't just aimed towards Michael. The glare came from Pamela Harris, Maria's recent nemesis during West Roswell High's production of Little Shop of Horrors. Despite Maria's assurances--even so much as to make a very public announcement in the cafeteria one day--Pamela had never really believed that Maria and Michael were together. Almost reflexively Maria's hand shot out and grabbed Michael's. She'd show the delusional senior what was what! 

Michael looked down at their linked hands and then firmly detached his from hers. Maria couldn't help it--she felt abandoned. It was just holding hands, that was all. Nothing shocking. And yet Michael couldn't even-- 

This thought was never to be concluded. Maria felt her textbooks being pulled away from her, and a strong arm wrapped itself around her waist. She looked up just in time to have a warm pair of lips pressed firmly--if briefly--on hers. She blinked rapidly in confusion. 

"Better?" Michael asked calmly. When she didn't answer, he gave the tiniest nod in Pamela's direction. Maria turned to look; the girl was staring at the two of them, chagrined. Turning back to her boyfriend, Maria grinned up at him. 

"Oh, yeah," she breathed, then admitted, "I've just got some lingering issues with Pamela, I guess." 

"I'm not that fond of her myself," Michael put in. 

"But if you really want to know," Maria said mischievously, "your technique could use some work. The form is nice, but you could stand a little more time before the dismount." 

"Hey," Michael objected. "That was just for show. Besides," he added, staring down at her, "if you have any problems with my so-called 'technique', blame yourself. You're the one who taught me." 

"What?!?" Maria yelped. Just because she was the first--and only--person he'd ever kissed didn't make this her fault. He'd proven on more than one occasion that he was a natural at the sport. She opened her mouth again to give him a piece of her mind, but stopped as she noticed the slight smirk of his lips and the hint of amusement in his eyes. She shook her head, chuckling. 

"So," Michael said, leaning back against his locker once more, "you're not grounded and I don't have to work. What do you want to do?" 

"You mean besides perfect your 'technique'?" she teased. He gave her a pointed look. "Okay, okay. Well, we're kind of limited, since we have no transportation. I don't know. What'd you have in mind?" 

"There's something I want to show you, but it'll have to wait until we've got wheels. Maybe Max will lend me the Jeep," Michael thought aloud. 

Maria's curiosity was instantly engaged. "What?" 

"You'll see when we go there. It's in the desert," he said meaningfully, with a glance around the hallway. 

Oops. Must be something alien-related then, if he wasn't willing to discuss it in public. "We could go to a movie," she suggested. 

His answer was quick. "No money." 

"I could--" 

"No," he cut her off. Michael was becoming very stubborn about this sort of thing. She suspected it had less to do with male chauvinism and more to do with his growing disinclination to be indebted to anyone. 

"We can just hang out, then," she said decidedly. For this first day, it didn't much matter what they did, just that they were together. "Where?" 

"The park?" Michael suggested. 

She shook her head. "Too cold," she objected. "It is almost December, you know." 

"My apartment?" he suggested, somewhat diffidently this time. 

Flushing, Maria told him, "That's still off-limits for now. My mom may have unwound enough to take me off punishment, but it's going to be a while before she relaxes with the new rules." She looked up at him. "We'll go to my house," she decided. 

He frowned. "I can't go there. Your mother hates me." 

"She doesn't hate you, Michael. She's just worried about me, and you confuse her." 

"I confuse her?" he muttered in an incredulous tone. 

"You have no idea how much," she commented with a smile. "Just be grateful she doesn't know everything about you." 

"Why? You think my background might be a little too much for her?" he smirked. 

"Actually, I don't know. She does make a living from little plastic aliens, after all." 

"But a real live...Czechoslovakian...might be pushing it?" he said, using her code word. 

"I don't know," she repeated, more seriously now. "But I promised you I'd never tell, and I won't." Michael nodded. "Besides," she said, her mood shifting suddenly back to a happy one, "she'll be at work, so she won't even be there. My house it is!" she cried triumphantly. 

He looked at her for a moment, shaking his head in exasperation, before pushing himself away from the wall of lockers. "Come on, then," was all he said. 

Together they headed outside and began the walk to the DeLuca residence. Maria wasn't sure if Michael realized that he was still carrying her books. She snickered. How very 1950s of him. He sent an inquiring look in her direction, but she just gave him a cheery smile and said nothing. 

Her voluble nature didn't allow her to remain quiet for long, however. "So what did Mr. Sutter want, anyway?" she asked. 

Michael scowled. "Nothing." 

"He pulled you out of class, Michael. He had to want something." 

"I don't want to talk about it right now, okay?" he barked abruptly. 

This couldn't be good. But if there was one thing Maria had learned in the last few months, it was not to push Michael. So she backed off. "Okay, Spaceboy," she said airily, dropping the subject. 

Putting a hand on her shoulder, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and studied her suspiciously. The tense look on his face slowly drained away, leaving only surprise and relief...and maybe just a tiny bit of tenderness? His mouth worked for a moment as he tried to find the right words, then he shrugged in a most Michael-like way. "Thanks," he said simply. 

"No problem," she said smiling up at him. Then grabbing hold of his jacket sleeve, she continued down the sidewalk, pulling Michael in her wake. 

It really didn't take them all that long to get to her house; or maybe it just didn't seem that long because they were together. Unlocking the back door, Maria dropped her bookbag on the counter and headed over to the refrigerator. 

"You can set my books on the counter," she told Michael, then grinned at his reply. 

"What? Oh." 

Yep, he'd forgotten he had them. Suddenly wondering just what was on his mind that was so distracting, she frowned, but pulled out a can of Coke and held it out to him. He took it wordlessly and popped the top, taking a large gulp. Setting a pitcher of iced tea on the counter, Maria pulled a bottle of Tabasco sauce from the cupboard and tossed it to Michael, who caught it reflexively and then stood staring at it. 

"I put it on the grocery list last week," she told him. "I figured we'd need it sooner or later. I don't even know how you can eat that stuff, alien genes or not." 

He continued to stare at the bottle, his mouth working as if he didn't quite know what to say. Then Michael set it carefully down on the counter and began advancing on her. She didn't even try to move, and he cornered her against the refrigerator door. Holding her face in his hands, he bent down and kissed her gently. 

Well, gently at first. Her hands snaked up to cradle his shoulders, and he pulled her closer, one arm sliding down to her waist and the other hand cupping the back of her head as he teased at her lips. Then they were devouring each other with hot, hungry kisses until Maria wasn't sure where she left off and Michael began. 

When they finally broke apart, both panting for breath, she leaned against the refrigerator to keep her knees from buckling and smiled shakily at him. "Wow," she managed. "It was just a bottle of Tabasco, Spaceboy." He didn't look all that calm and collected either, and she continued, "Guess I'll have to buy it more often." 

At that, Michael actually smiled, a crooked half-grin that she wasn't sure she'd ever seen before. "So no more complaints about my technique?" 

"Uh-uh. No way. Your teacher did a fine job," she said breathlessly. "Of course, we wouldn't want you to lose your touch, so I'd say plenty of practicing was in order, wouldn't you?" 

His expression became serious, and he answered, "Let's take things slow, okay? That kinda got out of hand there--" He must've seen the look on her face, because he rushed on, "I mean, I liked it. More than liked it. But I meant it when I said I wanted to be friends, too, so..." He gave her a teasing smirk. "Besides, I don't know where your mom's hidden the killer newspaper." 

She laughed at that. "Okay, friend. Grab your soda--and your Tabasco sauce--and head into the other room. We can watch some TV or something." 

Pouring herself a glass of iced tea, she followed Michael into the living room. He was already sitting on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, as he channel-surfed. She climbed over his outstretched limbs, managing to snag the remote on her way by, and plopped down on the couch next to him. 

"Hey," he objected, but made no move to reclaim the remote. She didn't offer it back either, but kicked off her shoes and curled up to do a little channel-surfing of her own. 

She was debating the relative merits of a sleazy-looking talk show and an ancient episode of "Scooby-Doo" when Michael spoke. 

"Grades," he said abruptly. 

Maria looked away from the TV set. "Huh?" 

"That's what Sutter wanted to see me about. That and my attendance," he added, carefully not looking in her direction. 

Maria made a small non-committal encouraging noise. 

"Seems the three days I was AWOL the week before last were the final straw. I was a topic of discussion at a teachers' meeting last week, and one teacher had something positive to say." He gave a bitter little laugh. "One teacher. And I don't even have a class with her." 

"Ms. Bedinger," she guessed, thinking of how hard Michael had worked on the plant puppets for the recent play. The drama teacher had taken a liking to him, Maria knew. 

"Yeah." 

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" she asked reasonably. 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing? I don't get it, Michael. You're not at all stupid, and yet you barely get enough passing grades to squeak by. It's not inability, and I know it's not laziness, so why?" 

"Just never seemed important." 

"Michael! It could affect your whole future! You don't want to end up in some minimum-wage scut job for the rest of your life, do you?" 

"I always figured that this place was temporary, that some day I'd be going home," he admitted softly. 

She swallowed. "That might still be true," she acknowledged. "But what if it's not? Or if it's not for a very long time? Don't you think you deserve a good life until then?" 

"Want--maybe. Deserve? I don't know." His jaw clenched. "Look, it's my problem. Don't worry about it." 

"Worry about it?" she repeated. Her eyes narrowed. "You don't think you could do it, do you?" 

"Of course I could do it," he retorted, stung. "I've got an eidetic memory." 

"A what?" 

"Eidetic. Photographic memory--same thing. Means I'm good at visual recall. I could do it. I just don't care about it, that's all." 

"You don't care--Michael, I know you better than you want me to, and I don't buy that. You're just afraid, that's all. Afraid of actually being successful at something." Her tone grew acerbic. "Well, maybe you're right to be afraid. Maybe you couldn't do it, after all." 

"I told you I could--" he ground out. 

"How much are you willing to bet on that?" Maria demanded. 

"Huh?" 

"You say you can pull your grades up. I say you can't. Winner gets to determine the penalty. You in?" 

He raised one sardonic eyebrow. "You sure you wanna risk that?" 

"It won't matter, because I won't lose," she said firmly. "You in or not?" 

"Oh, I'm in. I'm definitely in," he vowed. 

"Then it's a bet!" she cried, grabbing his hand and shaking it. Then she calmly turned back to the TV. Shaggy and Scooby were being chased by a mummy. 

She could almost see Michael realizing just what he'd let himself in for. "You set me up, didn't you?" he accused. 

She grinned at him. "You catch on quick, Spaceboy. Just not quick enough." 

"But if you lose--" 

"Oh, I will lose. I'm sure of it. But I don't think you'll do anything too horrible to me. Whereas I--" Here she turned sternly to face him. "I would have absolutely no hesitation in coming up with the most horrible, embarrassing, humiliating penalty for you should you decide to throw the bet. Be warned." She gave him a feisty smile. "So what are you going to do about it, Michael?" 

He blinked for a moment before standing and striding from the room. He was back in seconds, though, and he was carrying her History text. Dropping it to the floor, he picked Maria up and unceremoniously dumped her on the other end of the couch before reclaiming his seat. 

"I wouldn't look so smug if I were you," he said as he opened the book. "Because if--no, when I win, I'm gonna get some help deciding your penalty. I'm sure Alex will have some interesting ideas." 

Had he been looking at her, he would have found her suddenly concerned expression to be quite entertaining.   
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**_CHAPTER 2_**

It was a very surprised Amy DeLuca who stood in the doorway some time later. There was her teenage daughter, alone in the house with her hoodlum boyfriend, and their behavior was quite shocking. There they were, together on Amy's living room sofa...with a good fifteen inches between them. Her daughter chewed on the end of a pencil while the hoodlum boyfriend buried his long nose in a book. 

"This isn't how I expected to be spending the afternoon," Maria complained as she looked crossly down at her open notebook. It wasn't what Amy had expected, either. Was Maria actually...doing homework? 

The hoodlum boyfriend didn't look up from the textbook he was reading. "Don't blame me," he said absently, turning a page. "This whole 'Michael needs to study more' thing was your idea, remember? So if I have to do it, you--" 

His voice cut off as Amy accidentally jostled her arm against the doorway and let out a hiss of pain. He was on his feet instantly, the book falling to the floor forgotten as he placed himself between Maria and the doorway. It was almost as if he were instinctively protecting her from some unexpected danger. Amy could visibly see his slight relaxation as he realized it was only her, then his tension as he really saw her. 

"Mrs. DeLuca?" 

"Mom?" Maria said as she pushed past him. "I didn't expect you--" Like Michael's, her voice cut off abruptly. "Oh my god, Mom! What happened?" 

Michael stepped out of the way as Maria dashed to her mother's side and gently led her to the couch. The woman's brown hair was disheveled, and the side of her jaw was swollen. Michael grimaced. He knew from experience that was going to leave a nasty bruise. The kicker was her right arm, encased in a plaster cast and a canvas sling. 

Amy cut through her daughter's frantic babbling. "I'm all right, honey. Just a little battered, that's all." 

"What happened?" Maria demanded again, kneeling at Amy's side. 

"It was a stupid accident. I was reaching up for a box in the storeroom and slipped off the chair I was standing on. I landed funny and fractured my wrist, but I'll be fine," she assured her. 

"Why didn't you call me?" Maria asked, smoothing her mother's hair back off her face. "I just got my cell phone privileges back today, remember?" 

"I didn't want to interrupt your first day of freedom," Amy said sheepishly. 

That was absolutely the most idiotic--"Mom!" Maria's face wrinkled up in exasperation. "I can't believe you!" 

Watching from the corner of the room, Michael shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He felt very out of place. Being in the same room with Amy DeLuca made him uneasy enough on a good day; with her in this condition, it was even worse. He was useless here; maybe he should just leave. Quietly, he started to sidle to the door. Maria stopped him. 

"Michael," she said, not even looking up. "Get Mom a glass of water, will you?" 

Relieved, he escaped into the kitchen. When he reluctantly returned, glass in hand, Maria had Amy reclining on the couch, a multi-colored comforter spread over her. She took the water with a smile and helped her mother sit up to swallow the pain medication she'd been given. 

"This is ridiculous," Amy protested. "I can't lie here. I have things to do." 

"You're hurting. Stay there and rest," her daughter ordered. "I'll take care of things." 

"Just let me get dinner going. I'll rest later." 

Maria shook her head. "You've only got one good arm. I'll take care of it." 

"Who's the mother here?" Amy said, her eyebrows raised. Maria wrinkled up her nose; Amy ignored it and continued flatly, "Besides, you can't cook." Maria's face fell. 

Michael was shocked--no, appalled--to hear himself speak. "I can." 

Both of the DeLucas turned to him in surprise. "That's right," Maria said finally, "he can." She turned to her mother and added, her voice firm, "There! You lie and rest, and we'll make dinner." Smoothing down the comforter over her mother, she headed for the kitchen, gently pushing Michael in front of her. 

Once in the other room, she dropped her cheerful demeanor and began to pace agitatedly back and forth. "Oh my god. Oh my god. How could this happen?" she cried, her voice rising. "What if it had been worse? She could have really hurt herself, Michael. Well, she _did_ hurt herself. But what if--" 

"Maria." 

"--it had been really serious? I'm too young to--" 

"Maria." 

"--have to deal with this. I can't lose her, Michael, I can't--" 

"_Maria!_" She stopped mid-phrase and Michael said, less roughly, "She's gonna be okay. You won't lose her." 

Maria didn't look convinced. "Michael, she's all I have," she whispered. 

He frowned. "That's a stupid thing to say. You have Liz, and Alex, and Max and Isabel. And you have me. You're not alone, okay?" 

"Okay," she whispered, rather unconvincingly. 

"Besides, she'll be fine. Now tell me what I'm supposed to make for your dinner and you can get back out there and do all that girly nurturing stuff. Roll bandages or whatever." 

Maria ignored the tail end of this comment, too taken aback by the first part to get offended. Eyes wide, she asked him, "You mean you can really cook? I mean, more than just slapping burgers together? I thought you just ate cereal at home." 

His response was just the slightest bit sarcastic. "Yeah, I can cook. Said so, didn't I? I just don't bother when it's just me. And I happen to like cereal." 

"For _dinner_?" 

"So?" He wasn't about to explain that often, growing up, it had been all there was in the house. He'd gotten used to it. Hell, he'd sometimes been grateful for it. And now that he was buying his own groceries, it just seemed natural to stock up on boxes of the stuff. But he wasn't going to go into all that with Maria. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to speak. It didn't take long. 

"Well, I don't know what Mom was planning. Whatever you make will be fine. Just keep in mind that some of us have normal taste buds, okay?" Michael rolled his eyes, and she continued, "And Michael?" 

"What?" 

"Thank you." 

Acutely uncomfortable, he shrugged off her gratitude. "No big deal. Now get outta my hair, will you?" he ordered, starting to move towards the refrigerator. 

Maria headed to the door, only stopping long enough to place a soft kiss on his cheek. Absently wiping his cheek on his shoulder, Michael began to investigate the contents of the DeLuca cupboards.  
  
  
***** 

Some time later, Maria re-entered the kitchen to announce, "She's asleep." With some amusement, she surveyed the total disarray around her. Pots and other kitchen utensils were spread on every surface, and Michael was standing at the sink, chopping away at something. 

"What are you making?" Maria inquired, moving to Michael's side. She set down the bottle of Tabasco she'd retrieved from the living room and peered over his shoulder. The something he was chopping turned out to be a stalk of celery. 

"Soup. It was gonna be chicken, but you don't have any, so it's vegetable." He glanced up in time to catch her look of amusement, and became immediately defensive. "What? It's chicken soup to make you better, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, but usually when you're sick, not for broken bones. It was a sweet idea, though." 

He gave her a disgusted look. "Well, I was limited by the fact that you two don't have any decent food around here. What'd you do, blow your budget on the Tabasco? Practically all I could find were vegetables. Chick food," he snorted derisively, finishing with the celery and attacking a zucchini. 

"_Chick_ food?" she said indignantly. "You know, just when I think you're making some progress, Michael, you go and stick your foot in it. What's wrong with vegetables? They're healthy. You ought to try them sometime." 

"Uh-uh. All the Tabasco in the world couldn't make this thing edible," he claimed, gesturing to the abused vegetable in front of him. 

"So, what? You're saying that you're purposely feeding us something inedible?" she challenged, the corners of her lips quirking upward. 

"What? No. No," he started, then gave up. "Look, I'm working here. Go and distract somebody else." 

So he thought she was a distraction, huh? Maria couldn't believe she could feel this happy after feeling so horrified earlier. She said as much to Michael, who was dumping bits of chopped-up zucchini into the bubbling broth. "Except for Mom being hurt, I can't tell you how happy I am right now. I mean, things are really good, you know? You're yourself again, and things seem almost normal." She flung her arms out and spun around dramatically. "Here I am, a normal teenager with her norm--well, quasi-normal boyfriend, and nothing weird is going on for once. No FBI, no mysterious enemies...it's nice." 

Michael's eyes shot to the doorway. "Maria," he said in warning. 

"I told you, she's taking a nap. I think the pain pill did her in." 

"Still, you gotta be more careful," he instructed. 

"Oh, stop being so paranoid, Michael. Not everyone is going to take one look at you and automatically shout, 'Oooooh, alien!'" 

"Cut it out!" Michael hissed, grabbing her by the shoulder. 

"It's okay, Michael. See?" Maria dragged him to the doorway, and together they peered into the living room. Amy DeLuca was, indeed, fast asleep on the couch. "I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't safe, you know," Maria chided her boyfriend. 

"Yeah, well, nowhere is completely safe," he muttered. 

She turned to him, stricken. "How can you live like that, Michael?" 

Once again, he shrugged it off. "Used to it," was all he said. He moved to the stove and stirred the soup. 

Uh-uh. There was more to it than that. Something had him über-paranoid. Her eyes narrowed. "What's going on, Michael? You're hiding something from me." 

"I don't want to talk about it. Not today," he grunted. 

"Why not?" 

"I just don't." 

She took one look at his old familiar closed-off expression and bit her lip. "It's because I made such a fuss over having a nice normal day, isn't it?" she demanded, not really needing to ask. 

Michael didn't acknowledge it, but she knew she was right. 

"If something's going on, then we need to deal with it. Together. I didn't mean to--" 

He cut her off. "It wasn't for you." 

"What?" 

"It wasn't for you that I didn't want to talk about it, okay? It was for me." His eyes fixed on the soup pot, he muttered, "Maybe I was the one who wanted one normal day with my girlfriend." 

"Well, I don't--wait a minute. Did you just call me your girlfriend?" 

He spoke irritably. "Yeah, so? You are, aren't you?" 

"Well, yes, but I didn't think the word was in your vocabulary," she said in excitement. "But we--I mean, yes. I am. I am your girlfriend. I am Michael Guerin's girlfriend," she repeated, ignoring his exasperated headshake as she tested the phrase out on her tongue. It felt just as good as calling Michael her boyfriend. But she wasn't going to let herself get distracted. "So as your girlfriend, I should know what's going on, right?" she said, going doggedly back to the earlier subject. 

He let out a deep breath. "Things aren't all that normal. There's some...stuff going on." 

"Stuff? What stuff?" she asked suspiciously. 

"I'm not sure." 

"Michael!" 

"I mean it, I really don't know." He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "Couple of weeks ago, Max got a call. From Nasedo." 

She looked up at him, her forehead creased. "What did he want?" 

"He heard about some of the stuff that happened. He wanted Max to make me keep a lower profile." 

Maria snorted. "Michael, how would that even be possible? What are you supposed to do, crawl under a rock somewhere and become a total hermit?" 

"I know," he acknowledged. 

"And he expected Max to just order you to do it?" she asked in disbelief. 

His answer was not without humor. "Yep." 

Shaking her head, Maria laughed nervously. "So the all-knowing alien protector has absolutely no clue who you guys really are. Well, that was a wasted phone call, if ever I heard one. You don't hear from him for months, and he calls for that?" 

"And for Max to keep me from using my powers." 

She looked at him in concern. Sure, he'd been having trouble with them, but still..."Why?" 

"Don't know. I figure Nasedo will tell us when he gets here." 

"He's coming back? The evil shapeshifter who kidnapped Liz and killed all those people is _coming back_? Oh my god. How long have you known about this, Michael?" 

"Coupla weeks. But--" 

"A couple of _weeks_?" she shrieked indignantly. "And you didn't _tell_ me?" 

"I couldn't exactly blurt it out in the middle of school, could I?" he said, bristling. 

"Do the others know?" 

"Just Izzy, I think. Liz and Alex, probably not. I'm not even supposed to know." She stared at him, shocked, and he explained, "Max wasn't supposed to tell me." 

Maria collapsed against a counter. "There's something wrong here, Michael. Why would Nasedo be trying to keep it from you?" 

"Do I _look_ like I have any answers?" he asked dryly. 

Absently chewing on her lower lip, she pondered the news. "Michael, do you trust him?" 

"Nasedo?" She nodded. "No. I trust five--no, maybe it's six people, and Nasedo's not one of them. But I still want to hear what he has to say." 

"Was this what you were going to tell me about in the desert?" 

"No, that's something else. I wanted to show you something." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a small object, gleaming in the bright light of the kitchen. "This is part of it," he added, tossing it to her. 

Maria studied the small blue sphere, not even as big as a ping-pong ball. A tiny light danced in the center, shifting as she turned it over in her hand. "It's pretty. What is it?" 

"I don't know," he said again. "But whatever it is, I made it out of a rock." 

Her head jerked upright and she stared at him. "You made this? With your powers?" 

"No, with my handy-dandy 'Make a Blue Rock' kit. Of course with my powers." 

She scrunched up her forehead in confusion. "I thought you weren't supposed to be using them." 

"This was before I knew that. And I didn't exactly get up one morning and decide to make blue rocks. It was an accident." His voice grew quiet. "Look, I'll see if I can get the Jeep and we'll go out to the cave sometime this week. I'll tell you all about it then, okay?" 

"Okay." Maria rolled the sphere in the palm of her hand for a moment. "You know, Michael, this feels like you." 

There was silence for a moment, then an abrupt, "What does that mean?" 

"I'm being serious here. You...well, you've always been a _vibey_ sort of person, you know? What my mom calls a real vibrator." She glanced at him, but he didn't so much as blink in response. "This gives me the same vibes. It just...it feels like you, that's all. Like part of you." She clutched her fingers tightly around its smooth surface once more before reluctantly handing it back to him. When it was gone, her hand felt suddenly empty. 

Michael held the crystal for a moment, turning it over. Was it her imagination, or was the spark deep inside a little brighter now? Puzzled, she watched him give a frustrated headshake; then Michael stuffed the thing back into his pocket and turned back to the counters. He began stacking the pots and pans he hadn't used. 

Wordlessly, Maria took over and began putting the unused implements away. Michael scrubbed busily away at the knife and cutting board he'd used, taking longer than he really needed to so he wouldn't have to face her. He wasn't exactly in the mood for more discussion. Hadn't he opened up enough for one day? 

Finally finishing up, he draped the dish towel over the oven door handle and turned to face his girlfriend. "The soup needs to simmer for at least ten more minutes. Then you can have it any time." 

What? "You're staying, aren't you?" she asked in alarm. 

"No." 

"Michael, you can't go to all this trouble and then not eat with us," she protested. "Stay. Please?" 

"I don't think it's a good idea. Your mother's not feeling great; you don't need me around to make things more...tense." 

Moving close to him, Maria gave him her best pleading look. "Please?" It didn't have the desired effect. In other words, he didn't instantly give in. 

Michael sighed. "Remember what happened the last time you talked me into something I knew wasn't a good idea? You ended up grounded and we didn't talk to each other for weeks." 

"This is different." 

He crossed his arms over his chest. "How so?" 

"It's not against any rules for me to have a friend over for dinner, Michael." 

"Liz, yeah. Alex, sure. Hell, probably even some stranger you pulled off the street would be fine. But I'm already on shaky enough ground with your mother here. If I stay, I'm gonna piss her off--I do that to people. Hell, you're the one who told me I have no manners, remember? It's better if I make myself scarce. Your mother won't want--" 

"Don't you think her mother ought to decide for herself?" Amy asked groggily from the doorway. She ignored how Michael stiffened, and asked, "What's the argument?" 

"He's being an idiot!" Maria burst out. One spoken word from her mother--her name--reined her in enough to complain, "He won't stay for dinner, even though he's the one that cooked it." 

"I see," Amy said thoughtfully. 

"Mrs. DeLuca," Michael began awkwardly. Amy didn't let him get any farther than that. 

"Stay for dinner, Michael. After all, if you're going to be dating my daughter, you and I should get to know each other a little better, don't you think?" She took in the immediate panic in his eyes. "Look, we'll call a truce, all right? Open minds all around for the duration of the meal." Smiling slightly, she added, "Have some pity. I've already got a headache. If I have to listen to Maria moan and groan about you all night, it's going to get a lot worse." 

His eyes shifted rapidly back and forth between Maria and Amy, then he gave a curt nod. He felt trapped. 

Maria squealed and hugged him gleefully; he tensed and removed her arms from around his neck with a nervous glance at her mother. Amy ignored both of them. 

"So what are we having?" she asked, glancing over to the stove. 

"Homemade vegetable soup," Maria announced in an important tone. 

"That sounds like just the thing. I'm not sure my jaw would be up to much chewing," her mother said regretfully. 

"Witch hazel." 

Both DeLucas turned towards Michael. He went on, "You should put some witch hazel on it. Someone..." He suddenly remembered just where he'd heard it. From Mrs. DeLuca herself. "Someone told me that once," he finished lamely. 

Amy gave a solemn nod. "That's a good idea." 

Taking charge, Maria commanded, "You go sit at the table, Mom. We'll bring everything in." Within minutes, she had everything organized: the table set, her mother seated, and the soup and some bakery rolls on the table. 

The three of them began to eat. It was not the most relaxing dinner. 

Without saying a word, Michael worked his way through the meal. The sooner he got done, the sooner he could get out of there, right? 

Amy didn't say much, either. She was still groggy from the medication she'd been given, and both her wrist and her jaw had begun to ache again. 

So it was up to Maria to make conversation, one-sided though it was. She had covered that day's classes, the new shoes Liz had worn, and the abysmal lack of things to do in Roswell even when you weren't grounded, and was just about to start in on the crazy schedule Mr. Parker had her on at the Crashdown when they finished. 

"Do you want anything else, Mom?" 

"I'd love some herbal tea, honey, if you don't mind. And there's a cherry pie in the pantry if you two want dessert. I made it yesterday." 

Maria turned to her boyfriend. "Want some pie, Michael?" He shrugged, but leapt to his feet to help her clear the table the moment she got up. Maria wasn't fooled. He hadn't suddenly developed manners; he just didn't want to be stuck in the room alone with her mother. 

In the kitchen, she smiled as she placed the soup bowls in the sink and moved to cut two slices of pie. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it, Spaceboy?" 

Michael muttered something under his breath, too low for her to hear. 

"What?" 

He ran a hand through his spiky hair instead of answering. 

Hands on her hips, she asked again, "What, Michael?" 

"I said I had a better time getting lectured by Sutter," he repeated, loud enough for her to hear this time. 

She eyed him appraisingly. "Uh-huh." 

"Well, I did," he said defensively. 

"Look, Michael, I know you're not comfortable with my mother. But she's important to me, and you're important to me, and sometimes I need you both." 

"I'm here, aren't I?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, you are," she responded, suddenly cheering up. "So since you're here, why don't you grab the Tabasco while I make Mom's tea?" 

"I'm not gonna use it." 

"That's silly, Michael. You can put it on the pie in here. Mom will never know." 

"I'm not taking any chances." 

"Don't be such a big baby," she exclaimed, and reached for the Tabasco herself. 

"Would you cut it out?" he demanded, grabbing her wrist to keep her from upending the bottle over his piece. She playfully struggled with him, a teasing look in her eye. 

"C'mon, Spaceboy, you know you want it," she taunted. "Sweet and spicy, right?" 

"Yeah, but--" he began. 

With a gleeful laugh, she pulled her wrist out of his grasp and began to pour the pepper sauce on his pie. She was interrupted by a voice from the doorway. 

"Maria!" her mother cried, shocked. "Leave that alone. I did not go to the trouble of baking that to have you destroy it." Maria froze and stood there, flushed from her struggle. Michael took the opportunity to remove the bottle from her hand and cap it, setting it firmly down on the counter before turning to face Mrs. DeLuca. 

"Ummm, you tea's almost ready," Maria ventured. 

Amy ignored this, choosing instead to focus on Michael, an odd look in her eye. "Would you like to explain why my daughter was so eager to pour that stuff on a perfectly good dessert?" 

Michael shook his head, a wary expression on his face. 

"Were you actually going to eat it?" 

He hesitated, then nodded once. 

"For heaven's sake, why?" 

Because he was an alien with bizarre dietary quirks. But he wasn't about to say that. So he said nothing. 

"It was a bet." Maria's voice came from nowhere. Her mother turned to her, a puzzled expression in her eyes, and Maria continued glibly, "See, Michael and his friend Max--you know, the one who fixed the Jetta a few weeks ago?--well, they have this idiotic bet. It's this testosterone-based guy thing that's really stupid, but then they're guys, you know? Well, the bet is to see which of them can go the longest putting Tabasco on everything. It's supposed to be this macho thing. Personally, I think it's disgusting, but they're guys, so..." She glanced at her mother to see if she was actually buying this. Surprisingly, it seemed like she was. 

"You're kidding. You eat it on everything?" she asked, turning to Michael. He shrugged, and she continued, "_Everything?_" 

"You get used to it." 

She stared at him as if he was some unknown species, which wasn't far from the truth. "What on earth made you make such a crazy bet?" 

He shook his head. "I don't know. Sometimes I just get swept up in these things before I know what's happening," he said sourly with a pointed glance at Maria. She grinned saucily back at him. 

Amy was intrigued by this curious glance into Michael's personality. "So what do you get if you win?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. 

"I don't know...I guess an addiction to Tabasco sauce?" 

Amy looked at him for one long moment and then burst into laughter. "Sorry," she gasped between chortles. "That just reminds me of something my brother would have done as a kid." 

Michael, who'd been unaware that Maria had an uncle, looked with curiosity at the two women. Maria, a surprisingly cold look on her face, interrupted. 

"Never mind that. Here, Michael, take these," she said, shoving the pie plates into his hands. "And don't mix them up, okay? I don't want to become an accidental participant in your little bet. I'll bring your tea, Mom." 

"Okay, honey," her mother said, still chuckling. 

Maria had started into the dining room when the telephone rang. She answered it, and was surprised to hear Isabel Evans on the other end. "Yeah, he's here. He's having dinner with us," she announced. "No, I made him stay." A frown creased her forehead. "Sure, but what's going on, Isabel?" One moment of silence as she listened, then, "Oh my god. Michael?" she called. "It's for you." He appeared in the doorway, immediately taking in her pale expression. 

Grabbing the phone, he barked into it, "Yeah?" His jaw tensed as he listened, then he repeated, just as brusquely, "Yeah." Tossing the phone towards Maria and grabbing his jacket, he blurted, "Gotta go," and took off out the back door. 

Maria was left alone in the kitchen, a queasy feeling growing in her stomach. 

Nasedo was back.  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**_CHAPTER 3_**

Michael stared moodily at the back of Isabel's head as the Jeep sped down the streets of Roswell, New Mexico. Inside his brain, thoughts tumbled in chaos. The familiar feeling of excitement at heading towards a clue to their past and their future was there, but so was a stomach-churning feeling of dread. Somehow he knew he wasn't going to like what was coming. 

Max wasn't going to like it either, he suspected, noting how tightly his friend's hands gripped the steering wheel. But then again, why should he? Not only were the three of them on their way to get some dubious answers from Nasedo, but they would almost certainly see Tess in the process. Nasedo had instructed them to meet him at the Harding house. 

Well, no. He'd instructed _Max_ to meet him at the Harding house. When Max refused point-blank, he'd grudgingly agreed for Isabel to come along. But not Michael. Michael was to be kept out of it. 

His hands clenched, and he forced himself to relax. Well, he _wasn't_ out of it. Max and Isabel hadn't let him be out of it. The three of them might disagree, argue, even fight, but Michael knew that, deep down, they would be there for each other. Max had told him about Nasedo's call, hadn't he? They weren't keeping secrets any more. He was one of them, as close as if they were his brother and sister. 

Which was why he was so aware that Max dreaded a confrontation with Tess. Not that he wouldn't face her; he just didn't want to. Michael didn't blame him. If Tess hadn't come to Roswell the previous spring, spouting off all that 'Destiny' crap, things would be a lot different now. Max and Liz Parker would still be together, giving each other those sickening soft-eyed soulmate glances. Instead, they were still struggling with Liz's decision to back away and let Max follow the path that fate decreed. At least they were talking to each other, trying to be friends. 

Michael snorted. Yeah, right. 'Cause that worked so well. 

And Alex and Isabel--who knew where they'd be right now? Their fledgling relationship had been shattered under Destiny's harsh fist. At least Alex had always been there for Izzy. Giving her space, but giving her support, too. Friends. Hell, the self-professed computer geek had been there for all of them. A friend to everybody. 

And with no Tess, Michael wouldn't have run out on Maria, hurting her so badly in the process. At least he hoped he wouldn't have...he didn't have such a great track record there. But Tess had come, and Michael had run. He and Maria had never had the chance to become friends. How could they, when he'd put all that effort into shutting her out? 

Michael rubbed a hand across his tired eyes. He wasn't sure how he'd deal with Tess either. He actually hadn't given her much thought, too wrapped up in his own misery and the strange events that had befallen him over the course of the summer and fall, until just recently. 

Until he'd made the blue crystals, which had literally shed light on the wall of the pod cave, bringing forth the series of handprints hidden there. Four handprints--two large, one medium, and one smaller. Michael, Max, Isabel...and Tess? 

Whatever this meant, if it did prove some sort of connection between the four of them, he wasn't going to let it ruin things. He'd be damned if he let anything screw up what he had with Maria. He'd just gotten it back, and it was too important. 

His jaw set, he tensed as the Jeep pulled up to the Harding house. He'd only been there a couple of times, once to try and get information on the mysterious newcomer Tess Harding and once to get Liz away from her and her creepy 'parent', right after they'd discovered for certain that Tess was an alien. Like them. 

For a moment, he idly wondered what she'd been up to, alone in the huge house while Nasedo was off masquerading as Agent Pierce in Washington. It was strange, looking back, how she'd all but disappeared. One day she was in their faces, with 'Destiny' this and 'Destiny' that, and the next, she...wasn't. Michael could vaguely recall a confrontation between the tiny blonde alien and his best friend, who had refused to follow through with the whole plan, Liz or no Liz. Max and Isabel had agreed to do what they could to help their planet and their people, but that was it. 

Michael had tried half-heartedly to embrace his destiny, to become caught up in the whole grand purpose; then he'd turned around and out-and-out rejected it all. He wasn't going to buy into any of it, not even the war part. Because if that were true, couldn't it all be true? And Michael couldn't deal with that. Instead, he'd progressively cut himself off from everyone, even Max and Isabel. Which had led to all sorts of complications. 

And somewhere along the way, Tess had faded into the woodwork. Weird. Shaking his head, he followed Max and Isabel out of the Jeep and up the sidewalk to the Hardings' front door. 

The three of them glanced at each other warily, and Max raised a hand to knock on the door. Almost immediately, the door swung open, as if someone had been lying in wait. Tess stood there, an eager expression on her face. 

"Come on in," she began, only to replace that eagerness with a look of concern as she took in Michael's presence behind the other two aliens. "What do you--" she burst out, but then clamped her lips together tightly to keep from saying anything else. She stepped out of the way and allowed all three of them to enter without any further comment. 

With narrowed eyes, Michael watched her, not missing the nervous clutching of her fingers as she led them into the living room. What the hell did she have to be nervous about? His own apprehension was bad enough without having to deal with hers. Something wasn't right here. 

"Sit down," Tess said. "I'll get him." She left them to their own devices. Isabel and Max sat side by side on the couch while Michael stood in the corner, a guarded expression on his face. It was only a few moments before Nasedo appeared in the doorway, an apprehensive Tess behind him. 

Michael was instantly relieved to see that the shapeshifter was wearing his innocuous Ed Harding form and not Pierce's visage. He had just gotten to the point where he was accepting what he'd done to the Special Agent--not getting over it, that would never happen, but moving past it--and he didn't need to have any little reminders, friendly or not. 

And Max certainly didn't need to see that face, either. He never had come out and told them exactly what had happened to him when he was in Pierce's clutches, but Michael knew it was bad. Really bad. So in a weird way it was good to see Ed Harding instead. 

That is, until he became aware of the look of anger on the shapeshifter's face...  
  
  
* * * * *  


"No, he's back," Maria told Liz, agitatedly pacing across the kitchen. "Isabel said so, and Michael just booked. They don't know what's going on, but it really has me worried." Her hand gripped the phone tightly. "Did Max say anything to you?" 

"No," Liz responded on the other end of the line. "But it's not something you can easily discuss out in public," she pointed out. 

Maria bit her lip. "And why would he want to keep it from Michael? He's one of them. What does Nasedo know? I tell you, Liz, this is making me really, really nervous." 

"I wish they had told us," Liz said with a sigh. "Maybe we could have helped. Although I don't know how..." She paused. "Maria, at least Michael told you about it." 

"And I didn't even have to press him too hard, either," Maria said, a hint of a smile creeping into her voice. 

"I can't believe he actually had dinner with you and your mom," said Liz. 

"We made him. After all, he cooked it." 

"Michael cooked for you?" Liz asked in surprise. "Okay, who came down and commandeered his brain?" 

"Considering recent events, that's not nearly as funny as you think," Maria scolded. "Well, he kind of had to. I certainly can't cook, and since Mom--Oh my god, Liz. I can't believe I forgot to tell you about Mom. She broke her wrist." 

"What?" 

"She fell at the store and broke her wrist." 

"Is she all right?" 

"She's going to be fine, but it kind of wore her out. So I made her rest, and Michael made us dinner." 

Liz considered this for a moment. "I bet that was interesting." 

"It wasn't the most comfortable meal in the world," Maria admitted. "But he's trying, Liz. He really is. He even kissed me in front of Pamela Harris this afternoon." 

Liz's voice was filled with interest. "Oh, really?" 

"Uh-huh," her friend practically purred. "And then later--no, I think I'll keep later to myself." 

"Come on, 'Ria, spill it," Liz entreated. 

She could almost hear the contented smile grow on her friend's face as Maria told her, "Let's just say that, given the right circumstances, your knees really do go weak." 

Liz took this in and then breathed a small sigh. "Okay, I'm officially jealous." 

"You and Max aren't...?" Maria asked. 

"No. We're taking things very slow. I mean, it's hard to be around him and good to be around him at the same time, but I can't get too close until I know for sure I won't get in the way of what he has to do," the brunette told her. 

"It's hard, isn't it?" Maria said solemnly. 

"Uh-huh." 

"Well, hang in there, okay? I mean, if Spaceboy can come around, then you and Max can, too. I have faith." 

Liz smiled, and changed the subject. "So we'll be cornering the three of them tomorrow?" 

"Oh, yeah. Didn't we all just learn not to keep secrets from each other? I think it's time our Czechoslovakian friends had a little reminder of that, don't you?" 

Liz frowned. "What are you planning, Maria?" she asked suspiciously. 

"Oh, nothing much. Let's wait and hear what the deal is first. We can yell at them later. I'll call Alex and clue him in, and I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" 

"Okay. Tell your mom I hope she feels better soon." 

"Sure. Oh, and Liz? If anyone asks, Max and Michael have this macho Tabasco bet and Alex was too smart to get dragged down into it, okay? See you tomorrow." 

There was a click, and Liz stared at the receiver in her hand. Huh?  
  
  
* * * * *  


"Why is he here?" Nasedo asked bluntly. "Did I or did I not tell you to leave him out of this?" 

Max tried to answer calmly. "If something is up that concerns Michael, he needs to know about it. What's going on, Nasedo?" 

"You could ruin everything, bringing him into this. I'm surprised at you, Max. You're supposed to be the rational one, and yet you're just as rash as he is." 

"He is right here, and you can talk directly to him...me," Michael said, his voice tense. "I have a right to know what's going on." 

"None of you have rights," Nasedo scoffed. "You have roles to fulfill. That's more important than--" 

"Just tell me what's going on," snapped Michael as he stepped forward. "Why aren't I supposed to use my powers? Why was Max supposed to keep this from me? And why--" 

With a nonchalant flick of his hand, Nasedo released his powers at the spiky-haired alien. Michael flew backward, hitting the wall with a thud. Almost immediately he was on his feet, advancing towards the shapeshifter in a fury. 

Max grabbed Michael from behind and held him back as Isabel got between her almost-brother and Nasedo. "Stop it!" she shouted at the shapeshifter. Trembling with range, she turned to the fifth alien, who had been standing silently in the doorway. She managed to control her voice. "What's going on, Tess?" 

Tess shook her head. "I don't know. He hasn't told me anything--just that he would be coming. And he's had me keep an eye on all of you." 

Michael pulled himself free of Max's grasp, and stood, fists clenched. 

Turning back to the shapeshifter, Isabel demanded, "So why have things changed, Nasedo? You were plenty eager to involve Michael when it came to rescuing Max last spring. You helped him with his powers then. You even said that you were here to protect the four of us. Not just Max and Tess and me--the _four_ of us. So why are you shutting Michael out now?" 

Surprisingly, Tess added her pleas to the other alien's. "Please, just tell us what's going on--" 

"Silence!" the shapeshifter roared, rounding on her. Somehow she managed to hold her ground. 

"You've been telling me all my life about the three of them. About how the four of us were meant to be together. Were you lying to me all this time?" she asked steadily. 

Nasedo looked down at her for a minute. "No." 

"Then why--" 

"None of this is meant for his ears. He can no longer be trusted." 

"What?" burst out Isabel, as Max objected loudly. 

When Michael spoke, his voice wasn't loud, but it grated harshly on their ears. "Why? What did I do?" he demanded. Nasedo ignored him, and he repeated more loudly, "_What did I do?_" Still the shapeshifter refused to answer. "Well, that's just freakin' great then," Michael muttered under his breath. He turned to Max. "He won't tell you with me here? Fine. I'll go. We need--No. You need to hear what he has to say." 

"Michael--" Max protested. 

"It's okay, Maxwell. I just--" Michael broke off and squared his jaw. "There's no use talking about it. See you." Without looking at the others, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the house. 

There was a moment of silence. 

"Good. We can speak now," Nasedo said coolly. 

Isabel turned on him in rage. "How could you do that?" she shrieked. "Michael can be trusted. He'd never betray us. He's our brother!" 

The shapeshifter looked down his nose at her. "He is not your brother. He is supposed to be your betrothed, and your true brother's second. But none of that matters right now. We have things to discuss." 

Max clenched his teeth together, holding onto his anger. "Of course you realize that we'll be telling him everything you say." 

"Even if it means the ruin of an entire planet?" Nasedo studied him dispassionately. "I believe you would, at that. Well then, we have nothing to discuss. You aren't ready. But believe me," he continued, more ruthlessly now, "you had better get ready. As your pet humans say, the time is at hand. Go. Try and control your second. Prepare yourself to do what must be done." 

Max stepped up to him and met his gaze evenly. "If I'm the leader of an entire planet, then maybe it should be you taking the orders." 

Nasedo looked at him, coldly amused. "You're not a leader yet. And if you're not very careful, you never will be."  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**_CHAPTER 4_**

With a careful glance around the hallway, Max placed his hand over the lock, turning the tumblers, and opened the apartment door. Isabel swiftly followed him into the shabby apartment. It took less than three seconds to determine that Michael, indeed, wasn't there. 

"Why isn't he back, Max?" Isabel asked, even though she knew her brother wouldn't have any answers. "Where could he have gone?" 

"He was at Maria's before, right? Maybe he went back there," he said. Then he looked at his watch and shook his head. "No, he probably didn't. It's almost 11:00. I can't see Mrs. DeLuca too happy about him being over there this late on a school night," Max answered slowly. 

"Try calling," Isabel suggested as she pulled out her cell phone. "I'll try Alex. It's a long shot, but..." Her voice trailed off as she dialed the number, hoping against hope that Michael would have acted completely out of character and headed there, if he wasn't at Maria's. 

"Hello?" came a friendly voice on the other end. 

"Alex? Is Michael there?" Isabel practically begged. 

Alex was obviously startled, because there was a pause before he answered. "No. Were you expecting him to be?" 

"Not really. But I was hoping." 

"I like the guy, but he doesn't really hang out here," Alex reminded her. "So," he added, "how was the big meeting?" 

"You heard?" 

"Yep. Through the Maria telegraph." 

"Oh." 

"I thought you might've told us all about it beforehand." The statement was mild, but Isabel felt suddenly chastised. 

"I know. Oh, Alex, it was awful..." Her voice grew taut as she proceeded to explain what had happened. 

On Michael's phone, Max wasn't having much more luck. 

"He ran out of here as soon as Isabel called. He didn't even wait for dessert," the blonde said. "What happened tonight, Max?" 

"Nothing. Nasedo wouldn't talk." 

"He came all this way and then wouldn't tell you why?" she blurted incredulously. 

"He wasn't exactly pleased that we brought Michael," Max admitted. "Look, I'm going to try Liz's, but then Isabel and I need to get home. Our folks haven't been too pleased about the late nights we've been keeping. If we don't get home soon, we're going to be the ones who end up grounded." 

"You don't want that. Believe me, it really sucks," Maria said. "Max? Would you leave a note for Michael? Tell him to call me the _instant_ he gets back, okay? No matter what time it is." 

"I'll do that, Maria. Can you meet us early, before school? We'll tell everyone about tonight, and try and decide where to go from there." 

"Yes. 7:00, school parking lot?" 

"Sounds good. See you then, Maria." Max turned to his sister, who was still on her cell phone. "Alex?" he asked. She nodded, and he said, "Tell him we're going to meet at school at 7:00 tomorrow morning to let everyone know what's going on." 

As she began to do so, his eyes swept around the small apartment. Where on earth was his best friend?  
  
  
***** 

"He didn't call!" Maria wailed the moment she climbed out of the Jetta, joining the other four. "Where is he?" 

"We don't know," Isabel said tersely, "We tried calling him this morning, but he didn't pick up." 

"He didn't for me, either," she said glumly, leaning against the side of the Jeep. 

"We'll give him until school is over," Max decided. "If he hasn't shown up by then, we'll start hunting." 

"Maybe he's out at the pod chamber," Isabel suggested. "I don't know how he'd get out there without a car, but it's where he went the last time he needed to get away. And he was so angry last night..." 

Max nodded. "It's a possibility." 

"Angry? What exactly happened?" Liz asked. 

Max and Isabel looked at each other before Max spoke. "Nasedo wouldn't tell us anything. He was furious that we'd brought Michael even after he'd told us Michael should be kept out of it. All Michael did was ask a few questions, and Nasedo threw him across the room with his powers," he said soberly. 

Three pairs of eyes looked at him in shock. 

Maria began to shake her head, slowly at first, and then more furiously. "No. No. He can't do that. He can _not_ do that!" she burst out. "Nobody hurts Michael and gets away with it. Not any more. I don't care if he _is_ an alien shapeshifter--he's got to be stopped!" 

"It's okay, Maria," Alex put in, taking the girl by the shoulders. "We won't let Michael get hurt." 

Maria didn't exactly calm down. She began to mutter things under her breath. Alex thought he heard something about chainsaws, but decided it would be better not to ask. 

Meanwhile, the others continued the conversation. "Is he all right?" Liz asked. 

"I think so. He was on his feet again right away, anyway," he answered. 

"There, you see?" she said to her friend. "He's all right." She turned back to Max and Isabel. "What happened then?" 

"Michael left--" Max began. 

A still agitated Maria interrupted. "You just let him leave?" Four pairs of eyes fastened on her. "Sorry. Go on," she said. 

Max continued. "Nasedo was going to tell us why he was here, but when--" 

Once again, Maria interrupted. This time it wasn't in reaction to what Max said, but to a familiar feeling down inside. "He's here," she gasped, turning and searching wildly across the parking lot. Spotting a tall figure approaching the school, she clambered onto the Jeep's hood and shouted at the top of her lungs, "Michael Guerin! You better get your butt over here this instant, buddy, or... or..." 

"Or what?" he asked, sauntering over. 

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. 

He looked up at her, standing on the Jeep. "School. I have English. I would think you'd know that, since you're in the class," he said mildly. 

She was not mollified. "No, I mean why are you not at home, calling me like you were supposed to? I waited up all night, Michael. I sat there, waiting for you to call and worrying about you. I got no sleep, and I look horrible, and it's all your fault!" 

What the hell was she talking about? Sometimes the girl made absolutely no sense. And she didn't look horrible, she looked like Maria. Tired Maria, maybe, but Maria. Ticked-off Maria. Michael frowned. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to her diatribe. So he didn't. 

"Isn't that what you wore yesterday?" Isabel said, eyeing his clothing. 

Michael looked down at what he was wearing. Jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a jacket. "Yeah, what about it?" 

"Well, aside from the fact that you have absolutely no eye for fashion, it tells me you didn't go home at all last night. So where were you?" 

Michael looked her straight in the eye. "I went to see Valenti." 

"_Sheriff_ Valenti?" Max asked, dumfounded. Sure, the man had helped them out last spring and knew who they were, but still...this wasn't at all like Michael. 

"No, Secret Agent Valenti, his long-lost evil twin." Everyone gaped at him. "Of course Sheriff Valenti. Who'd you think I meant? Kyle?" 

"Why?" Max managed. Not that it wasn't a good idea, it just wasn't...well, Michael. 

"I told him Nasedo was in town. I thought that he should know about it. In case Nasedo...tries something. He kidnapped Liz, remember?" Michael swallowed. "And he's killed people. We have no way of knowing what he's gonna do." 

"He's not going to have the chance to do anything," Alex said irrepressibly. "Maria is already planning to kick his butt all the way back to Washington." 

Michael turned to squint up at the blonde pixie, who hadn't moved from her perch on the Jeep. "You are, huh." 

"He hurt you," she said petulantly. 

"Nah. I've got a hard head," he assured her. "Besides, he's got control of his powers. He didn't use any more than he needed. I don't think he was trying to hurt me, just to knock some sense into me, that's all." 

"Well, he shouldn't have. That's my job," Maria told him solemnly, then smiled as he nodded and looked up at her. 

"C'mere," he said, reaching up and grabbing her by the waist. He set her firmly down on the asphalt, allowing his hands to linger for just a moment, then told her, "You were gonna put a dent in the hood." 

"I was not!" she exclaimed. 

Isabel rolled her eyes. "Would you two stop your nauseating little flirting rituals and get back to the point? What are we going to do about Nasedo?" 

"Why? What did he tell you?" Michael asked. 

"Nothing," Max said patiently. "He wouldn't say anything after we told him we'd be telling you everything," he added, wanting to make certain his friend understood he had their full support. 

"Why the hell did you tell him that?" Michael burst out. 

For once, Max was nonplussed. "I...because it's true. We are telling you." 

"You know that and I know that, but did _he_ really have to know that? I tell you, Maximillian, you may be destined to be a good leader, but you'd make a lousy spy." 

"You're taking this all very calmly," Maria observed. "You're not acting angry." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him in suspicion. "Why aren't you angry?" 

"What, I can't be rational every now and then?" he riposted, then shook his head. "I am angry. More than angry. I am 100% ready-to-blow-things-up pissed off. But Nasedo is a hell of a lot stronger than I am, so being angry's not gonna get me anywhere, is it?" 

"No," she admitted, secretly impressed by this sign of maturity. 

"Can we get back to where you were last night?" Isabel put in. "You didn't actually stay at Valenti's all night, did you?" 

"Yeah, that's real likely. No, I didn't." He hesitated for a moment. "Kyle drove me out to desert. I spent the night in the pod chamber and hitchhiked back this morning." 

"Told you so," Isabel said to her brother. He ignored her. 

"Why?" he asked the other alien. 

Michael looked away for a moment, then answered. "Nasedo was against me using my powers. I thought I'd try and figure out why." 

Max closed his eyes. He didn't really have to ask, but he asked anyway. Or started to. "You tried using--" 

"Yeah." The answer was unapologetic. 

"Michael, what were you thinking? What if there's a good reason why you shouldn't use them?" Max burst out. 

Michael looked his friend straight in the eye. "I was thinking I need some answers, Max. I know, I was the one who wanted to find Nasedo in the first place. I thought he'd...be different. Give us our answers. But after everything that went on...I don't trust him, and I'm not ready to believe everything he says, just because he says it. Are you?" 

Alex decided it was time to cut into the argument before Michael lost the cool he was so gung ho on keeping. "So did they work? Your powers, I mean?" 

"No," Michael said, reddening just the slightest bit. "Not really. All I could do was make blue rocks. Well, that and..." Here he mumbled something unintelligible. 

"What?" asked Isabel. 

"I said I blew up a cactus, okay?" he shouted, daring them to make any comment. Of course Alex, being Alex, did. 

"That's it! That's why Nasedo was so against you. He has a cactus fetish, and he knew you were a danger to them," he quipped. "Michael Guerin, Scourge of the Desert. All you need is a horse and a big black cape, and you're set." 

All three girls laughed. Even Max cracked a smile at the mental image this conjured up. Michael, his arms crossed, just looked stonily at the lanky teenager. 

Alex decided it might be healthier to change the subject. "And what did you mean about the blue rocks?" he asked. "Why are you making rocks? And why are they blue?" 

"Long story," said Michael abruptly. He was in no mood for this. "If you're done with the questions, I'm outta here. Some of us have studying to do before school starts." With that, he strode off towards the school building. 

"I'll see you later," Maria said quickly, and then tore up the sidewalk after him. He didn't look back, but as she neared, he paused to let her catch up, and together they walked inside. 

The other four looked at each other in confusion. Finally Isabel managed to voice what they were all thinking. "Michael? Studying?"  
  
  
***** 

Neither Michael nor Maria said anything as they entered the building and headed directly for his locker. Dialing the combination, he opened it and searched through the stack of relatively unused textbooks for the things he'd need for his first few classes. Beside him, Maria bit her lip and wondered how to break through the prickly surface he was wearing like a shield. 

"Look, if you're expecting me to apologize for not calling you..." he began, carefully not looking at her. "I didn't know I was supposed to." 

"Would you have?" 

"What?" 

"Would you have called me if you'd gone home and seen the message?" she asked. 

He considered this for a moment, then answered with brutal honesty. "I don't know." She was silent, and he turned to her. "Not because I don't want to talk to you, just that...I was really angry about things last night. And if I lost control over that...I don't know. I don't want to hurt you." 

"You won't." 

Michael grimaced. "You may know that, but I don't. Not yet." He absently scratched his eyebrow. "I told you when we started this again, that I suck at the human stuff. Hell, I suck at the non-human stuff, too," he added with a self-deprecating little laugh. "I gotta get used to it, that's all." Glancing around the empty hallway, he added, "We got a while before school starts. I'm gonna head into English and do some reading first. Come with?" 

"Yeah," she said, tilting her head up to study him. "I need to make sure you're not going to welsh on our little bet." 

"Who, me?" he asked with a smirk. "Why would I do that when you'll have to do whatever I say when I win?" 

"Don't remind me," she groaned, then smiled up at him. "Hey, Michael?" 

"Yeah?" 

She gave him a saucy grin. "English is _that_ way."  
  
  
***** 

"How about it?" Alex asked, looking around the cafeteria table at the group. "Who's in?" 

"Me," Liz put in immediately. Max and Isabel weren't too far behind, either. Maria smiled at them. What great friends. 

Turning towards the one person who hadn't spoken up, Alex said affably, "What about you, Michael?" 

The spiky-haired alien was sitting next to Maria, but he obviously hadn't been paying any attention to the discussion going on. With his eyes focused on nothing in particular, he looked into the distance, lost in thought. Alex said again, "Michael? You in?" 

Michael blinked and mumbled, "Yeah, sure. Whatever." At Maria's giggle, he pulled his attention all the way back to the group. "What are we talking about?" he asked warily. 

"Michael, Michael, Michael," Maria teased. "You really need to learn to listen to your friends when they speak." 

"Hmmm," mused Alex, a twinkle in his eye. "The last time I heard that, you had just agreed to wear your Crashdown uniform at the next Whits gig, Maria." Somehow he managed to keep a straight face. 

"I am well aware of that," she said loftily. "You don't need to keep reminding me, Alex." 

"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Michael demanded somewhat irritably. 

"We're working out a schedule to help Mrs. DeLuca after school. Until her arm heals," Isabel told him. 

"What?" 

"You know, Mrs. DeLuca, broken arm, remember?" The tall blonde gave him a piercing stare. "You just agreed to help." 

Michael blinked. "Oh. Okay." He took in the surprised faces of his friends. "What? I said I'd help, didn't I? But I'm not eating dinner with you guys any more," he warned Maria. 

"Okay, Spaceboy." With a whispered "Thanks," Maria gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. 

Michael immediately ducked his head away from her. "Cut it out," was all he said. 

Liz got back to business. "So who's working this afternoon?" Four hands, including hers, shot into the air. 

"That leaves you and me, Isabel," Alex said. "Why don't I take DeLuca duty today. I'll explain it to Maria's mom, and we'll go from there. Liz can work out the schedule." 

With a grateful smile, Maria said, "Thank you, you guys. This is really great. I know mom will appreciate it, at least once she gets used to the idea of having Spaceboy at her beck and call." Michael shook his head disgustedly, and Maria continued over the laughter of the others, "I'm predicting homemade pies for everyone." 

Ignoring the chatter that arose, Max leaned across the table and addressed his best friend. "So where were you a few minutes ago? You were miles away, or you'd never have let yourself get suckered into helping out." 

Michael answered him soberly, his voice low. "Thinking about Nasedo." 

"We'll come up with something," Max assured him. "Just give us some time, and we'll come up with a plan." 

Michael looked him straight in the eye. "I already got one." 

A wrinkle appeared on Max's brow. Michael tended to act first and plan later. "What's the plan?" The other four stopped discussing pie flavors and listened in. 

"We give him what he wants." 

"What do you mean, Michael?" Isabel asked. 

"Max gets Nasedo to meet him somewhere to talk. He tells him I'll be kept out of it. Isabel distracts Tess. I break into their house and look for information." He waited expectantly for a reaction. Any reaction. 

Isabel and Max looked at each other. Finally, Max said slowly, "It just might work."  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 5**_

There was an immediate uproar. "Are you both _insane_?" Isabel cried out. "You're not really going to go along with this, Max. Are you?" 

At the same time, Maria turned to her boyfriend and tapped him fiercely on the shoulder. "Aren't you forgetting something, Michael?" she asked pointedly. 

He attempted to brazen it out. "What?" 

"There are six of us here. What exactly are Liz, Alex and I supposed to be doing while you three are off on your little mission?" 

"Nothing," he answered, hoping she would accept that answer. 

Of course she didn't. "_Nothing?_" she shrieked, then looked around the cafeteria and lowered her voice to a hiss. "We're just supposed to sit here and do nothing? While you go off and try to investigate this by yourself? No way. You and I are a team, remember, Michael? We investigate _together_." 

His voice was firm. "Not this time." 

Hers was just as determined as she shot back, "You can't do this by yourself. You need me." 

He didn't come out and deny that statement, but he didn't agree, either. "You're not going. If he figures it out--it's dangerous." 

"You said this morning that he wasn't really trying to hurt you. Now all of a sudden it's dangerous? Make up your mind!" 

"I don't want you getting hurt, okay?" he snapped. 

"Well, I don't want _you_ get--" 

"Would you two calm down?" shouted Alex, taking matters into his own hands. He lowered his voice to normal conversational pitch. "Nobody wants anyone to get hurt. We've got that. Let's move on, shall we?" 

"I see a problem," Liz put in quietly. "I mean, I agree we need to find out what's going on. But Max, how are you going to convince Nasedo that you're leaving Michael out of things? You already told him you weren't going to do that; he obviously believed you since he wouldn't tell you anything. So why would he think you just up and changed your mind?" 

There was silence around the table as the six of them considered this. Finally, Max spoke. "I'll just have to try," he said stoutly. 

Isabel scowled. "It won't work, Max. He's not going to believe you. And how could I distract Tess? I haven't spoken one word to her in six months, and all of a sudden I'm friendly? She won't buy it." 

"You're the only one who can, Iz," Michael explained in a gruff voice. "She's not gonna listen to a human, Max will be busy with Nasedo, and I'm not supposed to be included. You're all we've got." 

"Not necessarily," Liz thought aloud. "She knows you well enough to know that you...well, you sometimes rush into things, Michael. It wouldn't be all that out of line for you to confront her." 

Wait a minute. This wasn't the plan. "She won't tell me anything," he objected. 

"Maybe not, but it would be a distraction, and the rest of us could do the searching," added Maria. 

"I'm not gonna let--" Michael began, only to be interrupted by a very thoughtful Alex. 

"I wonder if Sheriff Valenti still has the FBI camera," he mused. Five pairs of eyes shot to him. "You distract Nasedo and Tess; we get in, plant it, and get out. No one is there long enough to get hurt, and we might get some valuable information out of it." 

"It wouldn't hurt to check with Valenti," Max said slowly. 

"That's great. That's just great," Michael burst out. "What happened to 'It just might work,' Max? We can't--" 

The sound of the bell, signaling the end of the lunch period, cut off his protest. 

"We'll talk about this more," promised Max as he rose from the table. "We'll figure something out." 

Michael looked at him incredulously. "You're just gonna sit around and let Nasedo keep information from us?" he demanded. 

"I thought you weren't going to believe anything he said," commented Maria, her brow wrinkled. 

Michael's already shaky calm completely deserted him. "I'm not. It's just...Look. Something's coming. Don't you feel it, Max? Iz?" He looked wildly around at his fellow aliens. "Something's gonna happen, and we've got to be ready." 

The siblings threw each other a worried glance. "I don't feel anything, Michael," Max said gently. "Look, I promise you we will do something to figure this out. What, I'm not sure, but we _will_ do something. Promise me that you won't go off half-cocked in the meantime." 

The other alien just looked at him. 

"Promise me, Michael," Max repeated firmly. 

He got a protest instead. "We gotta--" 

"_Promise_." 

Michael's jaw tensed, and he bit out, "Fine. I promise." Rising abruptly from the table, he added in a sarcastic voice, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to be a good little boy and go off to class." Turning on his heel, he did just that. 

"Michael--" Isabel called after him. 

"Let him go," Maria advised softly. "He'll be okay. He just...he needs a little time." But inwardly, she wasn't nearly as certain as she sounded.  
  
  
*****  
  


Wearily Maria pulled the silver antennae off her head and thrust them into her locker in the Crashdown's break room. This day had sucked. Well, two days, really. First yesterday, with the worry about Michael's whereabouts; then the brouhaha at lunch; and finally Michael storming off and closing himself off behind an all-too-familiar stone wall. For the first time in two weeks, he hadn't said a word to her before History class, and had stalked out of the classroom the minute school was over. 

And today hadn't been any better. Well, maybe a _little_ better. He'd been exceptionally terse, but he _had_ made the effort to speak to her. Just to grunt a greeting, but still... 

He was angry, she knew. Not with her, but with the situation. And his way of dealing with it was to shut down. She grimaced. God forbid he should actually share what he was feeling with his close friends, much less with his _girlfriend_. God forbid he-- 

"You okay, 'Ria?" Liz asked as she entered the break room from the restaurant proper. 

"Oh yeah, I'm just peachy," Maria grumbled. "I'm so happy I can hardly stand it." She turned around and leaned on the bank of lockers. "I tell you, Liz, that shapeshifter better pray he never meets up with me, because he will rue the day. I'm talking massive amounts of pain here." She glanced at her friend. "Hey, I'm serious, Lizzy--All right, would you please stop laughing at me? Okay, so I'm no match for his superpowers, but still...why did he have to come back and cause all this trouble?" 

"I know Michael is angry--" Liz began. 

Maria immediately leapt to his defense. "Well, wouldn't you be?" 

Liz smiled slightly. "I probably would. But I'm sorry he's shutting you out again." 

What? Maria willfully ignored the fact that she'd been mentally ranting about this very thing just a few moments earlier, and shook her head. "There's more than that going on, I think. It's not just Michael being broody. I know he can be a little paranoid, but..." Her voice trailed off as Liz raised her eyebrows. "Okay, a _lot_ paranoid. But there's usually a very good reason for it. I mean, why else would he get so worked up about us going with him to Tess's house to snoop? He's a lot more sensitive to things than people think. I think he really does feel something coming, Liz. And maybe Max should be paying more attention to it." 

Liz paused to consider. "Well, it couldn't hurt to try and figure it out. If there's something wrong, we need to know so we can deal with it. But it won't pay to act too hastily, either. We don't want to rush into things we know nothing about." She paused. "This may be nothing new. After all, we should be used to unusual things happening by now." 

"But that's just it," Maria expostulated. "We _are_ used to it. But this is different. Didn't you see him, Liz? He was..." She swallowed. "I know how he's feeling. He's really taking Nasedo's accusation badly, and if he's out doing something to figure things out, then he can keep from thinking about it. He can't face up to the accusation, because he doesn't think he could handle it if it were true." She cut off Liz's incipient protest. "It's not true; we all know it's not. But part of Michael doesn't know." Sighing, she muttered, "I just wish he'd talk to us about it, that's all." 

"Well, you can have a chance to corner him tomorrow," Liz said. "Even if he won't talk to you at school. He's scheduled to help your mom out at the shop, and you can go over there on your break." 

Maria visibly brightened. "Hey, maybe he'll be so eager to get free from my mother that he'll actually be happy to talk to me, just as an excuse. I'll corner him in the back room and make him..." Her voice trailed off and she snorted. "Like _that's_ going to happen. I don't think anyone's ever successfully made Michael talk when he didn't want to. Besides, I can't talk about it in front of Mom. I don't care how much pain medication she's on." 

"You'll come up with something. Use your creativity. I'll cover for you here," Liz put in loyally. 

"I can't push him, though," Maria said, thinking aloud. "Just be there and hope he feels like talking." She looked at Liz in frustration. "Why did I have to fall for the difficult guy? Why couldn't it have been someone like...like Alex?" The two girls caught each other's eyes and burst into laughter. 

"Why are you asking me?" chuckled Liz. "I went for the guy predestined to lead his whole planet to salvation. No easy guys for me, either." 

"Well, at least yours has decent communication skills," Maria complained in mock seriousness. "Let's face it, Liz. We'd both be better off with an Alex." 

One more glance at each other and the two shook their heads, speaking in unison. "Naaaah."  
  
  
*****  
  


Michael stood in front of the window and studied the rows of tacky alien crap displayed. Row upon row of round bellied, bug-eyed beings, gray or green or gray-green. Molded in plastic or rubber. Sewn in fake fur. Printed on magnets and stickers. Some wearing little rainbow T-shirts, some waving ray guns...and all a total misrepresentation of his species. 

At least he thought so. He couldn't exactly remember anything from his previous life. But somehow he didn't picture Nasedo, the only pure-blooded alien he'd met, wandering around town wearing an 'I invaded Earth and all I got was this lousy T-shirt' T-shirt. 

Michael grimaced. He should be out looking for clues, following the shapeshifter, practicing his powers...something. Anything. But no. Thanks to Max and the stupid promise he'd been forced into, he couldn't. Instead, here he was, about to embark on an afternoon of indentured servitude with the newspaper-wielding, Michael-loathing mother of his girlfriend. 

Boy oh boy, was this gonna be fun. 

Setting his jaw in a grim line, he pushed open the door and stepped into the tiny shop. The room teemed with color and scent, jumbling his senses. He could make out something faintly sweet in the air. Fruity. And a hint of something darker...spicier, maybe? 

"Hello, Michael." 

He suddenly realized that Mrs. DeLuca was standing there, watching him. He cleared his throat. "Mrs. DeLuca." 

"It's very nice of all you kids to come help out," she said steadily. He shrugged, then risked a glance in her direction. She looked better than she had three days earlier. Her jaw wasn't nearly as swollen, although it was starting to turn a deep shade of purplish-black. Probably take at least a week to disappear entirely. Her cast-bound right arm was still being supported, although the white canvas sling had been replaced with a vibrant, multi-colored one. Huh. Maria in action. 

Well, this was why he was here to help, wasn't it? "So...what do you want me to do?" he asked gruffly. 

"I have a shipment of things that need price tags," she told him. "But first, there's cold pop in the mini-fridge in the back, and a box of doughnuts. Help yourself." He didn't move, and she added, "Don't be shy. Alex has been friends with Maria for years, so I know how much you boys can pack away. Oh, and there's a bottle of Tabasco sauce, too. I wouldn't want to be responsible for you losing your bet with Max." She smiled suddenly. "Of course, I'll be offering him the Tabasco, too, when he comes in. Can't play favorites." 

"'S okay. Maybe later." He'd rather get right down to business. Be doing something. If he kept busy, maybe this afternoon wouldn't stretch out so interminably. 

Yeah. Fat chance. 

Pulling his attention back towards Maria's mother, Michael listened as she showed him how to work the price label gun; then he began to affix tags on a batch of spaceship-shaped keychains. Mrs. DeLuca watched him for a moment before settling behind the counter to look over some paperwork. She did keep glancing up at him, though. By the fourth time, he was almost ready to crawl out of his own skin, he was so uncomfortable. What did she think he was gonna do, rip off her merchandise or what? She gave him a smile, and he had to strain to keep himself from flinching. 

An influx of customers tore her attention away, and he was relieved. This was even worse than the dinner a few nights ago. At least then she'd been drugged up on painkillers. Now she was being...friendly to him, just as if he weren't the guy she'd warned away from her daughter less than a month ago. It was weird. Sure, he was helping her out, but so was everyone else. It wasn't even his idea. It didn't make sense for her to be this pleasant. Although he had not forgotten the steel in her voice when she warned him of the dire consequences should he ever hurt Maria again. What was the phrase she'd used? 'Kick your ass from here to California.' Yeah, that was it. And he didn't doubt that it was true, no matter how pleasant she might be right now. 

The nerve-wracking thing was, it was only a matter of time before he did do something that hurt Maria, whether he meant to or not. He seemed to have a real knack for it. And so here he was, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And sticking labels on alien-themed junk. 

A few of the customers--obviously tourists--inadvertently pinned Michael into the corner as he finished with the keychains, but he was able to finally make his way into the back room and take a deep breath. He'd stay in here, out of the way, until Mrs. DeLuca had finished with them; then he'd force himself to go see what else she needed him to do. 

Being in the store wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be, if he ignored the total trivialization of his race. The alien-related crap only made up part of the merchandise. The rest of the shop featured aromatic essences, astrological devices, and other New Age stuff. He'd even seen a few crystals that reminded him of the ones he'd made from rocks, although these were faceted and ranged in the pink and amber shades. He'd have to take another look when he got the chance. 

From the back room, he could still hear the voices of the inanely chattering tourists out in the shop; it only made him more determined to stay holed up in the back until they'd gone. Glancing around, he decided he wasn't going to waste any time, though. He pulled a paperback from his back pocket and flipped through it until he found his place. _Hamlet_. Not his first choice of reading material, but it was sure to be on the English exam at the end of the term. He hadn't bothered to read it a month ago when he was supposed to, so now he was making up for lost time. No matter what was going on with Nasedo's cryptic warning, he wasn't going to let Maria win their bet. Not without a fight. He began to read. 

He'd gotten through quite a few pages when a forced cry of "Damn!" from the store brought him to the doorway. He poked his head cautiously out. The tourists were gone, and Mrs. DeLuca was back at the counter, staring down at some papers without really seeing them. Michael cleared his throat and she looked up, startled. Her brow was furrowed. 

"Oh, Michael. Sorry. I'd forgotten you were here," she said, pasting a smile on her face. It didn't seem real though, not like her earlier smile. 

He hesitated, then ventured, "Everything okay?" 

"What? Oh, yes, it's fine," she answered, clearly distracted. "Just not dealing too well with this cast," she added sheepishly, picking up a pencil from the counter where she'd flung it in frustration a few minutes earlier. She held it awkwardly in her left hand. 

"What do you need me to do next?" he asked in a gruff tone. 

Mrs. DeLuca looked around the shop. Everything seemed to be in place. "If you don't mind, maybe you could pull the things off the top shelves in the storeroom for me. I need to reorganize in there so I can reach everything one-handed," she said with a wry smile. 

"Okay," he answered before heading into the smaller room in back where she kept the additional merchandise. Shoving his copy of _Hamlet_ back into his pocket, he looked around at the boxes stacked randomly on the metal shelves. Mrs. DeLuca should get Liz in here to make sense out of this chaos. He glanced down at the rickety chair that was lying on its side near the far wall. No wonder she'd fallen. It was surprising it hadn't happened any earlier. 

Picking the chair up, he righted it and set it next to the shelves. There was as good a place to start as any. He stepped carefully up onto it and reached for the closest box. 

"Careful," Mrs. DeLuca warned from the doorway. "I don't want any more accidents. One broken arm is enough, don't you think?" Michael nodded without looking back at her, and pulled the box down, stepping off the chair. He was setting the carton on a lower shelf when she spoke again. 

"So, Michael, do you believe in aliens?" she asked casually. He jerked around, the box still in his hands, and she burst into laughter. "If you could see your face..." she chuckled. 

He immediately let years of familiar defenses take over. The only sign that he wasn't totally indifferent was a slight narrowing of his eyes. "Why do you ask?" he questioned guardedly. 

She looked at him in surprise. "You're in the middle of Roswell, New Mexico, in a shop that caters almost entirely to the whole alien-phenomenon tourist trade, and you're holding a box of rubber aliens. I was just curious, that's all. I'm trying to get to know you better." 

Except that he didn't particularly _want_ her to know him any better. She was human, she was an adult, and she was his girlfriend's mother. Three very good reasons not to open up. 

But she was still looking at him, her eyebrows raised inquiringly. "It's just a question, Michael." 

Great. What could he say? 'Of course I believe in aliens. After all, I am one.' Uh-uh. Not gonna happen. Ever. The best option was an out-and-out lie--except somehow he couldn't bring himself to betray what he, Max and Isabel were. So he decided to go with a middle-of-the-road answer, and gave a non-committal shrug. 

He was saved from having to expand on this non-answer by the tinkle of the shop bell as the front door opened. A familiar voice called, "Mom!" 

Again, great. He'd managed to avoid an in-depth conversation with Maria for two days, but--No. She was probably just here to check on her mother, that's all. He climbed back on the chair and started busily moving more boxes. 

"So, you haven't killed him yet?" Maria asked cheerfully as she joined her mother in the doorway. 

"He's been very helpful," Amy responded, just as cheerily. 

Maria grinned. "I'm not at all surprised. He can be very useful when he wants to be." 

"Hey, I'm right here," Michael pointed out, somewhat irked at being discussed like this. 

"I know--I can see you," Maria shot back. "Hey, Michael." 

He turned to face her. She was wearing a jacket over her Crashdown uniform. "Hey," he answered. 

"He's not much for conversation, but he's cute, so that kind of makes up for it," Maria said in an aside to her mother. She made certain to speak loudly enough to ensure that Michael would hear, though, and she could tell that he did. A black scowl covered his face and he turned back around and set to work once again. 

Amy DeLuca raised an interested eyebrow and purposely drew her daughter's attention. "I thought you were working this afternoon." 

"I am," Maria assured her. "I just ran over on my break to see how you were doing." 

Amy's tone was indulgent. "Oh, you just came to see _me_, did you?" 

Maria didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed. "Well, both of you, actually. So how's the wrist, Mom?" 

"It's fine." 

"Good." She paused for just a moment. "Do you mind if I borrow Michael for a few minutes?" 

"I think you'd better ask him that," Amy returned with a smile. 

Michael kept moving boxes as he threw over his shoulder, "I'm busy." 

"Please?" Maria said, reaching up to tug on his shirt. "Please please pleeeeeease?" 

"You'd better give in, Michael," Amy advised. "When she gets like this, she's relentless." 

He eyed first the mother, then the daughter. He tried again. "I've got stuff to do here." 

"And think how much faster you'll get it done without me here distracting you," Maria pointed out. "Five minutes, and then I have to get back to the Crashdown." 

He gave up. "Fine," he said, running a hand through his disheveled hair and stepping down to the floor. After all, how much of an in-depth conversation could Maria get into in five minutes? He should be able to stall until she had to leave. 

"Good!" Maria squealed, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him towards a door in the back. "We'll be out back, Mom. C'mon, Spaceboy." 

Michael stiffened but stalked out after her. The moment they were out in the tiny alley behind the row of shops, he turned to Maria and hissed, "Don't ever call me that. Not in front of people." 

"What, 'Spaceboy'?" Maria said in surprise. "It's just a nickname, Michael. It could mean you wanted to be an astronaut when you were a kid, or that you have a habit of staring into space, or it could even refer to the area between your ears," she added in a teasing voice. "But if you want, I can call you something else. How's 'Mike'? 'Mikey'? 'Mickey'? 'Mi--'" 

His expression was implacable. "Michael. You can call me Michael. I don't do nicknames." 

"You call Max 'Maxwell' and 'Maximillian'," she pointed out. 

He didn't look at her as he muttered, "That's different." 

"And how is that?" 

Crossing his arms over his chest, he answered, "It just is, _Princess_." 

Indignant, she began, "I am not a--Oh. I see what you mean. Okay." She dramatically placed a hand over her heart and raised the other in the air, intoning in a particularly affected tone, "I, Maria Ursula DeLuca--don't give me that look, Michael--solemnly swear never to call you, Michael Guerin--what's your middle name, anyway?" 

"Don't have one." 

"You don't--" 

"No. You were saying?" 

She looked at him for a moment before resuming her overdramatic proclamation. "Never to call you, Michael No-Middle-Name Guerin, anything other than Michael." 

"That's better." 

Her eyes glinted with mischief. "Or Spaceboy." 

"Maria--" 

"But never in public, just when it's the six of us." She lowered her arms. "That good enough?" 

"Yeah." Michael paused awkwardly for a moment, then managed a quiet, "Thanks." 

"No problem." She looked up at him, hesitating. For a moment there, he'd seemed strangely vulnerable. Not what she had in mind when she'd started clowning around. She had wanted to try and tease him out of his bad mood, not make him even more withdrawn. There was definite concern in her voice as she asked, "But why, Michael? Is it to keep a distance between you and other people? Because you're close to people now. You don't have to feel so separate." 

He tensed and looked away, but he answered her. "Hank used to call me 'Mickey'." 

"Oh," she breathed, immediately understanding. Her mind darted to the flashes he'd inadvertently given her earlier that fall. One in particular, with a gigantic and angry Hank leaning threateningly over a small helpless boy. Michael had never spoken about it and she'd never pressed him, but she could still remember his fear. And Hank had called him 'Mickey.' All of a sudden, the happy Disneyesque connotations of that name were sucked away, and in their place was left pain and fear and shame. Talk about bad associations..."Michael, I wish you hadn't had to go through all that," she began. 

But he wasn't going to talk about it now, either. "Whatever," he said, then turned back to her and ruthlessly changed the subject. "So what did you want to talk to me about, anyway?" 

"What?" she asked, still caught up in her--no, his--memories. 

"You were the one who dragged me out here. What did you want?" 

Okay, mood change. Fine. She could work with that. Forming a pout, she looked up at him through lowered lashes. "What, a girl can't just want to spend a few minutes with her boyfriend?" 

His eyes narrowed. "You're up to something." 

Dropping the act, she answered honestly. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. But I'm not about to ask you, because you'd just say 'fine', which would tick me off, because with everything that's going on, you obviously aren't fine. And since you won't talk to me at school--" 

"Look, I--" 

"No, it's all right, Michael. I think I understand why. But since you won't talk to me, I just wanted to...well, corner you, so I could remind you that I'm here for you and I believe in you and I love you. And that's all," she finished in a rush. 

Blinking down at her, Michael seemed unable to collect his thoughts and put them into words. She smiled at her tongue-tied alien and reached up to gently pat his cheek. "Look, I've got to get back to the Crashdown. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" 

She had barely made it two steps closer to the door when she was swung back around and enveloped in two strong arms. His voice was muffled by her hair. "You're seriously warped, you know that?" 

"Course I do. That's why we go so well together," she responded with a grin and a squeeze. Pulling back slightly, she looked him straight in the eye and said teasingly, "_Michael_." 

"Maria." 

"Spaceboy." 

"Princess." 

"Spikehead." At his look, she added quickly, "It's not a nickname. It's a description." 

He raised an eyebrow, but went along with it. "Blondie." 

"Brooder." 

"Babbler." 

"Bab--now, wait just a minute!" 

One eyebrow rose. "Can dish it out, but can't take it?" His lips twitched once, and she burst into laughter. 

"We're going to have this out, pally, sometime when I don't have to get back to work," she teased. 

His face was perfectly deadpan as he told her, "I'm quaking in my boots." 

"And well you should be," she responded feistily. Reaching up, she kissed him, allowing her lips to linger on his warm ones when he responded. As kisses go, it was fairly innocent, but still sweet. She smiled. 

"What?" 

Her tone was regretful. "I really do have to get back. Liz can only cover for me for so long." She started down the alley towards the street. 

A sudden impulse made him call out. "Maria?" 

She turned back. "Yeah?" 

"Why don't you take this with you," he suggested, pulling something from his pocket and tossing it to her. Her fingers closed around it as she caught it reflexively, and she immediately knew what it was. One of the blue crystals. 

"Michael," she protested. 

"It's okay. I want you to have it. Besides, I've got others." 

"You're sure?" she asked, studying his face for any sign of doubt. She found none. 

"Yeah." 

In a flash, she was back in front of him, whispering "Thank you, Michael," and pressing another kiss on his lips. Then she darted down the alleyway and was gone. 

Michael stood there, looking down the alley where he'd last seen her. He wasn't quite sure what had prompted him to give her the crystal, but somehow it felt right. Like she was meant to have it. 

He grimaced. She deserved more, but that's all he had to give her. She was always doing stuff for him. Like just now, when she'd obviously wanted to talk about how he was feeling, but had allowed him to change the subject because he couldn't bring himself to. Instead, she'd been so Maria--vibrantly, feistily Maria--that he'd almost forgotten everything else that was going on. 

How did she know him so well? She could lead him right up to the brink, without pushing past his emotional boundaries. And each time, he felt as if he'd stretched inside. Become bigger, more open. Like she could break through his stone wall from the inside, just expand it until it contained the whole universe, and wasn't even needed any more. How did she do it? He'd never figure her out. 

Shaking his head in confusion, he headed back into the shop. He could probably spend several lifetimes pondering why Maria was Maria. But in the meantime, menial labor awaited. He had rubber aliens to move.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 6**_

Balancing carefully on the rickety chair, Michael reached up and pulled the last carton from the top of the metal shelving unit. The smallish box had been tucked behind two others, and was covered with a thin layer of dust which floated through the air as he moved it. Some of these cartons looked like they hadn't been moved in a few years. Whatever was in them, they couldn't be very popular sellers. 

He stepped to the floor and moved the chair away from the shelves, setting the small box on it. The top three shelves were now completely empty, and he figured that the rest were well within Mrs. DeLuca's reach. She was a lot taller than her daughter. Now all he had to do was arrange everything so she could get to it with her left hand. But she probably had her own way of wanting things. Better ask first. 

He could hear her in the shop, helping a customer; he considered pulling out _Hamlet_ again but discarded the idea almost at once. He didn't feel like reading just now. Maria's visit had distracted him for a while, but that pleasant oblivion had long since worn away, and his mind had been busy as he worked. 

Moving the box from the chair, he sat and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. He'd been over it and over it in his mind over the last few days, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what he'd done that should have Nasedo trying to oust him from the group. If it were in the past, maybe. After all, the moment he'd found out about the photo of the alien's murder victim from 1959, he'd positively itched with a need to find out whatever he could of their past. He'd acted rashly more than once, he had to admit--although he certainly wasn't sorry for any of it. But, trying to be fair, maybe some of his actions could be seen as irresponsible. 

But all of that was before Nasedo had revealed himself last spring. He couldn't think of anything he'd done since then to bring this reprobation on his head. Nothing that had happened to him over the last few months really affected anyone outside of his small, tightly-knit circle. So what could have set Nasedo off? 

He'd started making blue rocks. But that had happened about the same time as Nasedo's call to Max. There was no way the shapeshifter could have found out about it. And what did a bunch of stupid rocks mean, anyway? 

And he'd gotten back together with Maria, but that had happened later, too. Besides, it shouldn't make any difference to Nasedo. It wasn't like, if there was no Maria, Michael was going to go with the whole Destiny idea anyway. Neither he nor Isabel wanted that. The idea was just--well, wrong. 

Then there was the whole split-personality thing earlier that fall. But no one outside of his small group knew anything about it. No one else was close enough to realize that the Michael who'd paraded quietly through Roswell for weeks was any different from the usually surly guy they were used to seeing. That is, if they noticed him at all. 

Nasedo couldn't have known about any of it before he called Max. And Michael hadn't done anything else that could warrant this anger. 

Unless the shapeshifter knew something that he didn't... 

Sitting up abruptly, Michael ruthlessly pushed this thought aside. He had to stop thinking about it before he went stir crazy and did something impulsive, promise or no promise. 

Mrs. DeLuca was finishing up with her customer as he stepped out from the back. The customer, an older woman in a dark jacket, glanced uneasily at him as she put away her change and took the bag Maria's mother handed her. Michael stayed in the doorway, trying to look unthreatening and apparently not succeeding. The woman's eyes flickered nervously to Mrs. DeLuca and back towards Michael. 

Stepping around the counter, Amy DeLuca placed herself between the woman and the spiky-haired teenager. "It's all right," she said reassuringly. "He's...he's a friend of the family." The woman didn't lose any of her tension, and Amy escorted her to the front door with a gentle smile. As the door closed behind her, Amy turned to face the boy who stood stiffly in the doorway. 

"It's all right," she repeated. Michael didn't answer, and she felt a sudden urge to rid his eyes of their blank expression. "That was Mrs. Walton," she explained. "She moved here about six months ago, after her husband was killed when their house was robbed. She's a little gun-shy around people she doesn't know, especially...well, she doesn't trust easily, that's all." 

He looked away as he muttered, "Yeah, I have that effect on a lot of people." 

"It has nothing to do with you, Michael. She would have reacted the same way to anyone else that she didn't know. Don't take it personally." 

Michael didn't bother to explain that the woman's reaction hadn't bugged him all that much. He was used to that kind of thing, when he was noticed. It had just driven home Nasedo's reaction, that was all...His expression didn't alter as he shrugged and changed the subject. "You got a particular way you want the boxes in back arranged?" he asked gruffly. 

"What? Oh, yes. I'll come take a look." 

Heading back into the storeroom, Michael stood by the shelves and waited for Mrs. DeLuca to give him instructions. She took a look around, and admitted sheepishly, "I'm not even sure what's in some of these. Why don't you open everything up, and I'll decide?" 

The teenager complied with her wishes, not saying a word. After a few of the larger boxes were opened, he picked up the small box that was sitting on the floor by the chair. It was taped shut. Pulling out a pocketknife, he slit the tape and placed the box on a nearby shelf before moving on to another carton. 

"You want the heavier stuff at the bottom and the lighter stuff higher up?" he asked diffidently. There was no answer, and he turned his head. "Mrs. DeLuca?" 

She was standing by the shelving, her good hand holding open the flaps of the small box he'd just put there. She looked pasty white, as if suddenly sick to her stomach. Her hand trembled. 

"Mrs. DeLuca?" Michael repeated twice more before she seemed to hear. He caught a brief glimpse of something metallic inside the box before she let go and the flaps swung shut. She seemed suddenly very unsteady on her feet. 

Reaching out, Michael grabbed the chair and placed it next to her; she sank onto it. He hesitated. "You okay?" 

She stared straight ahead for a moment, then spoke for the first time in what seemed like a very long while. "Where did that box come from?" 

"Top shelf, behind a couple of bigger ones," he answered. 

When she spoke again, her voice was unsteady. "I think that's all I'll need you for, Michael." 

He blinked, confused. It was nowhere near closing time, and there were boxes piled haphazardly all over the storeroom. As much as he didn't want to be there, something was wrong. "There's still a lot--" he began. 

"I mean it. You can go," she stated firmly, still not looking at him. 

He was getting a very bad feeling about this. "Do you want me to call Maria?" he suggested. 

"I just want you to leave!" she snapped. A few moments later, he was standing outside the back door, jacket in hand, wondering what the hell just happened. She had been perfectly pleasant--unnervingly so, in fact--until she'd looked into that box. 

Pulling on his jacket, Michael started off at a brisk pace towards the Crashdown and Maria.  
  
  
*****  


Liz Parker looked up from the ketchups she was marrying in the pre-dinner lull, ready to greet the new customer, as the bell over the Crashdown's front door rang. But it wasn't a customer. Well, she supposed it was, but Alex didn't really count. He was a friend first, and besides, she usually ended up comping him his meals. "Hi, Alex! How's it going?" 

"Really great," he answered as he sat down at the counter. "I think I might have a line on a gig for The Whits, a pre-Christmas holiday bash." 

Liz smiled, pleased for him. "Oh, Maria will be exited. Congratulations!" A sudden thought hit her. "Are you really going to make her sing in her waitress uniform, Alex?" 

His eyes twinkled. "She agreed to it, even if she didn't realize what she was agreeing to at the time. Besides, do you think I'd tell you if she was off the hook? It'll be too fun to watch her squirm." 

"Who's squirming?" asked Maria, who'd overheard Alex's last sentence as she approached, root beer in hand. Setting the glass down in front of him, she said, "I put your order in. It'll be up in a few minutes." 

"I didn't order yet," Alex objected. 

Liz laughed. "Alex, you've been coming in here for years, and you always have the same thing. A Galaxy Melt, an order of Saturn Rings, and a root beer. Unless it's breakfast--then it's pancakes." 

He frowned and looked thoughtful. "Are you saying I'm predictable?" 

"Just because you've ordered the same meal for eight years? Why would you think that?" she bantered. 

Maria cut in. "Enough with Alex's predictability. Who is squirming, and what are they squirming over?" She glanced around the nearly empty restaurant and sat down next to Alex. 

"Well, actually, you are," Alex grinned. "The Whits might have a gig in a few weeks. So you'd better start shining those antennae--you're going to want to look good." 

Groaning, Maria closed her eyes. "This really bites." She didn't even bother to open them as the bell over the door rang again. Liz could greet the new customer. Maria was too busy wallowing in her own fashion nightmare-induced misery. 

"Maria, could you take care of the new arrival, please?" Liz asked calmly. 

"You know, someday I'm going to be doing something other than serving horribly unhealthy food to the unwashed masses," Maria grumbled as she opened her eyes and swung the stool around. A tall form was standing right in front of her, and her mood brightened. "Speaking of the unwashed masses," she teased with a smile. "Hey, Michael. You can't have missed me already. You just saw me an hour ago." 

Of course, he didn't respond with something flowery and romantic, like 'A minute away from you is too long.' After all, this was Michael. "I need to talk to you," he said tautly. 

She studied him, startled. "Sure. Uh, Liz? We'll be in the break room." Hopping off the stool, she pulled Michael to the back of the restaurant and through the swinging door. 

"What's going on?" she asked. "I thought you were banned from the Crashdown." 

He was taken aback, as if whatever was on his mind had drummed that fact right out of his head. "I am, I guess." 

"And why aren't you at the shop, anyway? What happened?" 

"Your mother kicked me out," he stated baldly. 

"What? Why? What happened?" 

He hesitated. "She was acting kinda...weird." 

Maria sank down onto the break room couch. "I know you don't know her all that well, Michael, but believe me, weird is not unusual for Mom. She could be her own exhibit at Ripley's Believe It or Not." She grinned. "Actually, so could you." 

Shaking his head, Michael forged on. "That's not what I mean. She was...nice to me the whole afternoon, which is strange enough, especially when she started asking me about aliens--" 

Oh god. "She _what_?" 

"Exactly. But this was later, after you left. We were going through some boxes in the storeroom, and she opened one and freaked." 

"She freaked," Maria stated carefully. 

"Yeah." 

"In a panicky, 'I just discovered aliens exist and one is dating my daughter' kind of way?" 

"In a barely able to function kind of way," Michael clarified. "The next thing I knew, I was out the door." 

Her brow wrinkled. "Do you think she's all right?" 

"How should I know?" Michael shot back, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "I just thought I should tell you. So you could check up on her or something." 

Maria nodded absently, clearly thinking about what had happened. She nervously twisted the bracelet she was wearing. "What was in the box?" 

"I don't know." 

The sound of the Crashdown's back door opening brought both of their heads snapping around. Jeff Parker came in, carrying a carton of paper goods. He stopped when he saw Michael, who immediately clammed up and looked sullen. 

"It's okay, Mr. Parker," Maria put in. "He just brought me a message from my mother." 

"Your mother." It was a statement, not a question. 

"Yeah. He was helping her out at the shop this afternoon." She smiled hopefully up at the Crashdown's owner. "Mom is completely over the whole staying-out-all-night thing. Well, as long as it doesn't happen again. And she's okay with Michael. So if _she's_ over being mad, could you..." Her voice trailed off expectantly. 

Michael spoke for the first time since Mr. Parker's entrance. "I'll go." 

"You can stay," Jeff told the glowering teenager. "I was going along with Amy's wishes on the matter; if she doesn't mind, I don't have any reason to keep you away. Just try not to distract any of the waitresses while they're on duty, will you?" he added with a smile. 

Michael nodded once, his face lightening just the slightest bit. Maria, as usual, was more vocal than her boyfriend. "Thanks, Mr. Parker! I'll get back to work in just a minute, I promise." 

"Sure thing," Jeff told her, heading into the kitchen to deposit his carton. Maria turned back to Michael. 

"So how bad was she? Do you think I should go over there, or call her, or wait until I get home?" 

"I don't know," he repeated. "I'm not exactly a good judge of human behavior." 

"Well, you're not as bad as you think," Maria retorted. "You knew enough to come tell me about it, didn't you?" 

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." He looked down at her for a moment, then spoke again. "I'm gonna go. Stuff to do." 

"Would any of this 'stuff' be studying for a certain History exam tomorrow?" 

"What if it is?" Michael shot back. 

Maria smiled up at him. "Oh, nothing," she answered nonchalantly. "Just checking up on you. After all, there's a bet at stake." 

"Don't worry about it. It's under control." 

"Good. I don't want to win, anyway." 

"Yeah, see if you can say that _after_ you're stuck with the penalty for losing." 

She tilted her head to the side speculatively. "Which is what, exactly?" 

He grinned fiercely down at her. "Haven't decided yet. I'll let you know after I win. Now go call your mother or serve somebody or something. I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Okay, Spaceboy," she said, heading for the phone. 

He rolled his eyes and strode out the back door and into the alleyway. He'd spent quite a bit of time in alleys today, actually. Good places to hide out. 

Or be trapped. 

Now what had stuck that into his brain? The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he hastened his pace. Rounding the corner, he glanced swiftly in all directions. Normal people were walking around, doing normal, everyday things. No one was doing anything overtly suspicious. 

So why did he have the feeling he was being watched?  
  



	7. Chapter 7

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 7**_

Max knocked and waited impatiently for Michael's apartment door to open. When it didn't, he frowned and knocked again, louder this time. 

"You might as well come in," Michael called from inside. Max looked around the hallway to ensure it was empty before he waved a palm over the lock to disengage it. 

Michael was sprawled on his couch; he looked up as Max entered. 

"It was locked," the dark-haired alien said. 

"Yeah, so?" Michael responded absently. "You got in, didn't you?" 

Max shook his head as he reminded him, "Not everyone has powers, Michael." 

"I knew it had to be you or Isabel. Maria's checking on her mother, and nobody else drops by." 

Max nodded. His friend had a point. For the first time, he noticed the book Michael was holding. "What are you up to, Michael?" 

"What does it look like? Studying," was the bland answer. "History test tomorrow." 

Since when was Michael concerned about a test? And this was the second time this week he'd mentioned studying...would wonders never cease? Max's lips curled up in a smile. 

"Do you really think Mrs. Lyons will be able to handle the shock?" he joked. 

Michael kept a deadpan look on his face as he replied, "Well, it's gonna be fun to watch her head explode." He looked over at Max. "You didn't come over to check up on my study habits. What's going on?" 

"I talked to Valenti. He's skeptical about using the FBI camera, since Nasedo found it before, but he's willing to let us try. We'll have to get it back afterwards at some point, though. I thought we'd all meet tomorrow and work out the logistics." 

Michael studied his erstwhile leader. "You mean we're actually gonna do something for once?" 

"Michael, I know you think we've been wasting time--" 

"No, Maxwell, you don't know what I think. Things are getting worse. Something is coming--something bad--and we have no clue what. If we don't do something to get ready for it, we're sunk." 

Max wrinkled his brow in concern. "You have a tendency to get worked up about things, not to trust--" 

Michael sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. "You mean I'm just being paranoid, don't you? It's not the same as before, when I only used to trust you and Isabel. Now I trust three more people, and maybe Valenti. That's a really big change. Whether you can see it or not, I'm actually a whole lot less paranoid than I used to be. So if I say there's something wrong, you'd better be a whole hell of a lot more ready to believe it than you seem." 

"Michael, don't get angry. It's not that I don't trust you, or what you're sensing. I just don't like risking your safety, or anyone else's, until we know more." 

With a sigh, Michael relaxed back into the couch. "I'm not angry. I just wish we didn't always have to go through this shit, you know?" 

Max nodded in perfect agreement. "I know." 

Michael ran long fingers down the spine of the history text he was still holding, tracing the lettering. "I think someone's been watching me." He looked up at Max. "I'm not sure. Maybe it's more of my paranoia kicking in." 

"But you don't think so," Max said evenly. 

"There's a friggin' shapeshifter running around town and you expect me to pass this feeling off as nothing? Unlike you, he's the perfect spy. He could be anyone, and we'd never know it. Hell, Max, he could even be you." 

Max looked at him oddly for a moment, then rattled off, "We met for the second time in Mrs. Ziff's class in third grade, when you showed up at Roswell Elementary. You'll eat almost anything, but you have a special passion for chocolate-covered doughnuts with Tabasco sauce. You call me 'Maxwell' and 'Maximillian'--oh, and for the nine days it took me to learn to ride a bike without falling over, 'Maccident.' You--" 

Cutting him off with a smirk, Michael snorted, "Cool your jets, Maxwell. You don't have to prove it's you; I know it is. I'm just saying that we can't trust Nasedo, that's all. We don't know what he's up to. Now more than ever--he could be anyone, anywhere." 

Max sat down on the other end of the worn couch. "So you think Nasedo's the one watching you?" 

"Who else could it be? He's gotten the FBI off our backs, and Sheriff Valenti's on our side now...no one else has a reason to suspect me of anything. 'Cause I haven't done anything." He grew silent and gripped the History book more tightly. Finally he spoke again. "Do you ever wonder what things would be like if we were human?" 

Max looked curiously at him. "Sometimes," he admitted. 

His eyes on the floor in front of him, Michael slowly pressed on. "I always used to imagine a different life. One with no trailer park and no Hank. But it always used to be life on our own planet, if the ship had never crashed, if I had a family..." 

Max made a sympathetic noise, not trusting himself to say more for fear of making Michael close off even more. 

Michael shrugged. "Hell, with my luck I'd have gotten stuck with a whole family of Hanks. Ones who didn't even have to get liquored up to--" He cut himself off, suddenly realizing what he'd been about to share. It was well outside of the realm of things he wanted to admit to himself, much less discuss with someone else. Way, way too personal. God. Any more of this and he and Max would find themselves discussing feminine hygiene products and the status of their respective love lives over flavored International Coffees. Feeling a strong need to get back within more comfortable boundaries, he barked, "So we're meeting tomorrow night?" 

"After school if it works for everybody," Max answered, gracefully ignoring the rapidity of the subject change. 

"I gotta work at 4:00, but I'm free 'till then." 

"We'll head out to the quarry after school, then. We can talk privately out there." 

"Yeah." 

Max studied his friend for a moment. The other alien looked relaxed, but there was an underlying tension about him that didn't bode well for whoever or whatever was causing his paranoia. The idea popped into Max's head that this time, Michael wasn't going to go down without a fight. Suddenly, the leader of the Royal Four was even more grateful that he and Michael were on the same team. 

Torn between letting Michael know what his friendship meant and an unwillingness to make him as acutely uncomfortable as Max thought he would be, Max decided to keep his mouth shut. "See you tomorrow, then," was all he said. 

"Yeah." 

Max headed out the door, locking it behind him. For a moment, Michael gazed at the door; then he sprawled out once more on the couch and opened his History text. Time to deal with the past tonight; the future would wait until tomorrow.  
  
  
*****  


The radio played softly as Maria reached into her drawer for night attire. Her hand hovered for a moment, then darted down to seize the faded comfort of her flannel sheep pajamas. She could use a little of their warm solace tonight. 

Michael had been right. Her mother was definitely acting weird. Not that Maria had been able to get one word out of her about what was wrong, but she could tell. After seventeen years, she was pretty much used to her mother, and she'd never seen her like this before. Her mother had never had any trouble expressing just what was on her mind at any particular moment. In fact, most of the time she would be hard pressed to hold it in. To be fair, Maria was no different--it was a DeLuca family trait. But tonight was definitely atypical. Her mother was acting almost wooden. Sure, she put on a cheerful front, but Maria could tell something was wrong. The mother wasn't nearly as good a faker as the daughter. 

So more to worry about, on top of the whole Nasedo thing. Not to mention the everyday things, like tomorrow's History test. Which she hadn't quite finished studying for. And it was one thing to push Michael to improve his grades, but if she didn't do as well on the test as he did, she'd never live it down. But she was simply too worn out tonight to read. She'd have to try and cram some more at lunch tomorrow. 

Climbing into her pajamas, she moved towards her bed and then stopped as an impulse struck her. Quickly she headed back to her dresser, opening up the jewelry box that sat there. Her fingers searched the back recesses of the box until they found what she was looking for: a small pouch made of rose-colored watered silk. 

Maria carefully loosened the drawstring and, holding her breath, poured its contents into her palm. A small, golden cufflink with the initial 'D' engraved on it. It had belonged to her father. 

She could still remember the day she'd found it. It had been about a week after he'd walked out on them, and she had snuck into her parents'--now her mother's--room while her mother was making dinner. Maria had stretched out on the floor between the bed and the dresser, her eyes closed, and tried to pretend that he was actually there. That he hadn't left, and if she opened her eyes at just the right moment, he'd be there sitting on the bed, smiling down at her. 

But of course he hadn't been. She'd turned her head away from the bed as silent tears ran down her cheeks and onto the carpet, and then she'd seen it. It was lying just under the edge of the dresser where the kickboard had long since fallen off, and it was glinting golden like some sort of magic talisman. He must have dropped it, not realizing, as he packed his belongings. Her small fingers darted out and clutched it, holding it so tightly that she'd ended up with its shape indented into her palm. Then she'd scrambled to her feet and fled the room. 

She recalled digging in her treasure box for the silken pouch, although she couldn't remember what it had originally contained or why her mother had given it to a seven-year-old in the first place. But that hadn't mattered; it was to be the new home of this remnant of her father. Of proof that he had been there, that he existed. The small piece of silk would hide it away and keep it safe until he came back for it. For them. 

She didn't know if her mother had ever seen it, secreted among her treasured possessions. If she had, she hadn't ever said anything. Maria herself hadn't looked at it in years, letting it rest untouched. Now she ran her fingers over it, noting the discoloration and the tarnish on the metal finish. It was no longer a magic talisman, sent to guide her father on his way home. It was just an old cheap cufflink, separated from its mate. Useless. 

Her hands didn't shake as she carefully tucked the cufflink back into the corner of her jewelry box, without its protective pouch this time. She had a more important use for that. This time it would hold something that was given to her. Meant for her to have, not left in carelessness for her to find. The smooth fabric was just big enough to hold a tiny treasure. A thimble, or a ring, or a marble. Or a small crystalline sphere, made of a million shades of blue. 

Picking up the blue rock from her dresser, she carefully enclosed it in the rosy silk and tightened the drawstring securely. That was a good place for it. It would be safe there. Another impulse struck her, and once more she was burrowing in a dresser drawer, this time for a length of sky-colored satin ribbon. Tying it tightly around the top of the pouch, she knotted the loose ends and slipped it over her head. She would look for some stronger cord, something she could permanently affix to the pouch, but this would do for tonight. 

A yawn overcame her, and she gave a little half-laugh. Padding over to her bed, she climbed in and tried to relax. She curled up on her side, one hand under her cheek and one reaching up to grasp the pouch. Even through the fabric, she could feel the Michael-vibe which came from it. It was like having a little bit of him with her all the time. And he'd wanted her to have it. It had been his idea. 

With a sleepy smile, she closed her eyes and felt herself drift off to sleep.  
  
  
*****  


The dim hallway stretched out in front of her, further than her tired eyes could make out. The only light came from her upturned hand; the blue star clutched within it sent tendrils of light questing out into the dark, little flickers of blue flame creating shadows on the walls. Maria was vaguely aware that she was dreaming, but didn't let the thought disturb her. Instead, she moved slowly down the hallway, passing an occasional door in a seemingly endless expanse of wall. 

She knew she was looking for something, although she couldn't say what it was. And she thought that she was supposed to be afraid of something else, but she couldn't say what that was either. So she kept walking steadily forward. 

Several times she stopped in front of an ornate door, wondering if perhaps _this_ was the one she was searching for; but every time she shook her head and moved on. It never felt quite right. 

At the fourth such stop, though, it did feel right. Maria wasn't quite sure why. After all, this door looked exactly like the others she had considered, carved in dark wood with geometric shapes that almost made a picture...but not quite. The only problem was, she wasn't sure if behind this particular door was the something she needed or the something to fear. 

Holding the star up higher now, she reached out with her other hand and turned the doorknob. Soundlessly the door swung open, only to reveal an expanse of velvety black that even the light of her star didn't penetrate. Something urged her forward, and she stepped over the sill. A shiver ran up her spine and out to the tips of her fingers. 

She blinked. 

She was in a room, big and empty except for pale walls and a lounge of some sort, covered in deep green brocade. She thought a hundred years earlier it would have been called a fainting couch, but she wasn't sure. The star was gone from her hand, but she could see clearly, even though she couldn't identify the source that lit up the room. 

Turning around, she wasn't surprised to find that the door through which she had entered didn't exist. After all, this was a dream. 

A hand touched her shoulder, and she started and swung around. Although the room had been empty earlier, Michael was there, standing just inches away. She smiled involuntarily. This dream was definitely looking up. 

He didn't say anything, just stepped near her, pinning her gaze with his. Her hand snaked out to touch his cheek, and he grabbed it and held it tightly. Not taking his eyes from hers, he pulled her even closer, a wolfish grin sliding across his face. Deliberately he bent his head, avoiding her waiting mouth, and pressed hot lips to the side of her neck. 

Her head tilted back to allow him room, and her free hand came up to tangle in the hair at the back of his head. Her pulse began to pound, and she managed a barely coherent, "Michael." 

He chuckled against her skin, then pulled his head away so he could look down at her once more. For the first time, he seemed to notice the faded flannel pajamas she wore. "Well, this is different," she heard him mutter as he traced her neckline with one long finger. "Usually you're wearing a lot less." 

She opened her mouth to question him, and he lowered his to cover hers. His tongue swept across her lips, and she shuddered before allowing him even deeper access. Senses swimming, she almost moaned a few moments later when his mouth pulled away, but the dream Michael rapidly began tasting her jaw. 

"Michael," she breathed again, turning her head slightly towards him. He didn't answer, and she suddenly realized that his hands were between them, clumsily working on the buttons of her pajama top. 

Oh. So this was going to be one of _those_ dreams. She smiled ruefully. Who else would wear sheep pajamas for a--The thought stopped in her mind as she recalled what he'd muttered. Wait a minute. Usually she what? "Michael?" she said again, a question in her voice. 

He pulled his mouth away from her long enough to murmur, "It's okay, baby," and then began teasing at her jawline again. His hands never stopped their fumbling. 

Baby? "Baby?" she squeaked, her hands shooting down to cover his. "Since when have you called me 'baby', Michael?" 

"Hmmmm? Don't worry about it," he said thickly, once more lowering his head towards the soft skin of her neck. Her hands tightened on his wrists. 

"Michael Guerin! Did you pull me into your dream again?" she demanded fiercely. 

"Wha--" His hands froze on her last button, and his eyes shot down to them, then up to the sliver of pale skin his unbuttoning had exposed. For the longest while, he didn't seem able to move, or tear his eyes away. Or come up with a coherent sentence, for that matter. Then he finally managed to look her in the eye. "Ma...Maria?" he stammered. 

"Who'd you think it was, Spaceboy?" she countered. 

With a yelp, he jumped back from her as if she were kryptonite, dropping the still-fastened final button and breaking her hold on his wrists. "Shit!" Hands clenched, he spun around, his back towards her. 

"Nice," Maria commented dryly. "Nice reaction, Michael. One minute you're doing your best to get my clothes off, and the next I'm practically poison?" 

"I didn't know it was you," he protested, still turned away. 

"This just gets better and better. So you were cheating on me?" she demanded, enjoying his reaction. She never would have been able to picture him flustered, and the reality was...endearing. 

He turned part way back around, speaking earnestly. "I wasn't cheating on you. I mean, I thought it was you, but not--I wasn't--" he floundered. 

"You thought it was me, but that you were dreaming?" she offered coolly. Michael nodded without looking in her direction, and she added, "And what was that you said before? That I'm usually wearing a lot less? Do you have these dreams often, Michael?" 

A tinge of red crept onto his cheekbones, and he snapped defensively back at her. "Half of me is human, remember? I'm a guy--what'd you expect?" 

"Hey, Michael?" She noticed with amusement that he glanced at her and then immediately away before he spoke. 

"Could you...Just button your shirt, okay?" he said gruffly, eyes to the side. 

"You were the one who wanted it undone," she pointed out as she swiftly did up the buttons, much more smoothly than he'd unbuttoned them. "I should make you do it." 

"Maria," he bit out. She was amazed that she felt so confident in teasing him. Must be because the dream world wasn't real, even if both of them were. Because in real life, she wasn't ready to be topless in front of him. Not yet. At the idea, she began to blush as well. 

"All done," she announced. Michael hesitated, then slowly turned his head toward her. He let out a small breath of relief when he saw that she was, indeed, fully clothed. 

"Uhhh...sorry about that," he muttered. 

Maria studied him carefully. "Why? It's nice to know I'm wanted," she said honestly, smiling up at him. 

He didn't respond to that, instead frowning a bit. "So did Isabel send you in here to spy on me, or what?" 

"Uh, that would definitely be 'what', Michael. I haven't seen Isabel since lunch time." 

"Well, how'd you get in here, then?" 

"It's not the first time it's happened," she reminded him. 

He scratched absently at one eyebrow. "Yeah, but we were in the same room then. So unless one of us has taken up sleepwalking--" 

"Unlikely." 

"--how'd you get in my dream?" he asked again. 

"I don't know, Michael. You're the one with the alien powers, not me." Crossing to the fainting couch, Maria plopped down on it, stifling a laugh when she noticed that the brocade pattern was made of tiny spaceships and alien heads. She looked around. "Are you sure this is your dream? I mean, where's the desert?" 

"I do occasionally dream about other stuff, you know." 

"I noticed," she bantered, her eyes sparkling with humor. 

"Quit it," he said, sounding a little annoyed. "And I haven't dreamt about the desert for a while. At least a couple of weeks." 

"So instead you're dreaming of long hallways and lots of doors." 

"What?" 

"That's where we are. I was walking down this dark hallway, and I went through a door, and there you were." 

"There weren't any doors. I was in the cave, the one out by the reservation, and when I went further into the back of the cave, it became this room. I saw you and I thought...well, you know what I thought." 

"Where's the cave now, then?" 

"I don't know. Where's your door?" he shot back. 

"Michael," she said in exasperation. "I'm trying to figure things out here. Is this your dream or mine?" 

"Actually," came a voice out of nowhere, "It would be mine."  
  



	8. Chapter 8

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 8**_

"What the hell?" Michael burst out. Glancing wildly around the room, he took in the pale walls and the couch on which Maria sat. No one else was there, not that he could see, anyway. The back of his neck prickled, and he moved to stand protectively in front of her. Alert and tense, he waited. 

He heard nothing. Nothing except for his own harsh breathing and the pounding of his heart in his chest. 

"Michael--" 

"Shhhh!" he hissed, turning his head to glance back over his shoulder at the girl behind him. Another interminable period of silence. 

Maybe he hadn't actually heard anything. Maybe it was just his imagination. But if so, why was every cell in his body suddenly on edge? "Who are you?" he finally demanded in a loud voice. The sound echoed back from the blank walls. 

"Well now, that would be telling, wouldn't it?" the voice commented. It seemed to come from all directions at once, and Michael couldn't tell if it was male or female. Or even human. 

Behind him, Maria stood and moved closer, tucking one hand into Michael's. Well, at least she'd left his right hand free, so maybe he could use his powers. Great. If the voice came from a cactus, they'd be set--he could just blow it up. Otherwise, they were in trouble. 

Maria called out, her voice strong and true, and seemingly unshaken. Michael was proud of her. If she was feeling any of the dread and uneasiness he was feeling, it was a wonder she could get any words out at all, let alone sound so calm. And yet she did. "What do you want?" 

"Now isn't this interesting?" the voice replied. "I'm surprised at you, boy. Not at all the companion I would have expected you to dream up. Somehow I pictured you with someone more...well, that sums it up, actually. Someone more." 

Michael's hackles--and his temper--rose. Anger gleamed from his eyes, and would have erupted had Maria not squeezed his hand tightly in caution. So rather than shouting in her defense, he held it in, almost shaking from the effort. "You didn't answer her. What do you want?" he said tautly. 

"Why, for you to come out and play, boy," came the voice again. "Leave your little dream friend and get ready. The game begins." 

Game? What the hell was he talking about? "How about you make an appearance, and then we'll see?" Michael said steadily. 

"Oh no, that wouldn't do at all, now would it? After all, I'm not really there." There was a sardonic little chuckle and then the voice continued, "Or am I? Perhaps I'm just a product of your fertile mind. Who's to say?" 

"Stop talking in fucking riddles and get to the point!" shouted Michael, losing his shaky grasp on his temper. "Either tell us what's going on, or get the hell out of here!" 

The voice answered with maddening calmness. "Very well," it said, and then went silent. The alien and the human held still, not trusting that it was really gone. 

After a long while, they both started to relax and Maria spoke. "What was that?" 

"How should I know?" answered Michael abruptly, freeing his hand from hers and rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Was it real?" she persisted. 

"I don't know, okay?" he snapped, then let out a deep breath. "I don't know," he repeated, more calmly this time. 

Maria nodded, and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the sudden chill she was feeling. Placing an arm across her shoulders, Michael led her back to the couch. "Sit down," he suggested. 

She did so, and he sat next to her, gazing at the wall in front of him as his mind raced. 

"That wasn't the same voice you were hearing earlier this fall." It was a statement, not a question, but Michael answered anyway. 

"No. That sounded like Topolsky, remember? This sounded like...I don't know what this sounded like. It just _was_." He ran a hand through his spiky hair. "I don't even know if it was real, or...This is just what I need. To start hearing voices again. Too bad I never got fitted for that straightjacket." 

"Michael!" she scolded. "I heard it too, remember? We just need to figure out if it was real or part of your dream. If we're even in your dream, or in its dream, or what." 

"And just how do you suggest we do that?" Michael demanded. 

"Give me a minute, will you? I'll come up with something," she said in a determined tone. Her mind worked busily. Maybe they couldn't prove if the voice was real or not, but they might be able to determine if this was Michael's dream. That would be a start. Surely his alien half would be of some use...An idea popped into her head. "Wait a minute. When Isabel took me dreamwalking before, she couldn't change any of the dream. She could only use her powers on herself, and on me because she brought me in with her. So if you could use your powers to change something in this room, then we'd know this was your dream, right?" 

"My powers suck, remember?" he said testily. 

"Well, you can make blue rocks, right?" Maria sprang to her feet. "So make this couch into a big blue rock." 

He looked up at her. "You want me to change the couch into a rock," he echoed blankly. 

"That's what I just said, didn't I?" She grinned at him. "C'mon, Michael. You can do this." 

He shook his head, but rose and dutifully put out his right hand. Frowning, he concentrated on the couch. 

Nothing. 

Folding his arms over his chest, he turned to Maria. "Try again," she instructed. 

"It doesn't work like that. I can't do it on command. I don't just wave my hand and go 'Poof'." 

"Well, how do you do it then?" she asked, not put off by his brusqueness. 

"It's usually by accident, when I'm thinking about something else," he admitted. "I can't do it when I try to. It doesn't work." 

"So think of something else, then." She waited expectantly for a moment before curiosity got the best of her. "What do you think about?" 

His eyes flickered away from hers. "Stuff." 

"Stuff? What stuff?" 

"Just stuff," he answered, his jaw tightening. 

Ahhh. There was the stone wall, trying to go up again. Nope--wasn't gonna happen. "Well, go ahead and think about 'just stuff', then," she said with a giggle. So he couldn't perform on command, huh? Then what he really needed was a distraction. She could handle that. Waiting until he'd knelt and placed a hand on the couch, she added, "So in these dreams of yours, Michael...what am I usually wearing, anyway?" 

He swung his head around. "Would you drop it about the dreams already?" 

"No, no, I really want to know. Tell me. T-e-l-l m-e-e-e-e!" she whined. 

"No." He sounded adamant, but-- 

"That bad, huh? It'll be easy, Michael. Just close your eyes and picture it." 

Almost without volition, his eyes snapped shut. "That's good," she encouraged. "Now describe it to me." And pray she didn't turn bright red on the hearing. 

"Actually, right now I'm picturing you in a giant parka. And a couple of blankets. And maybe a tent," he groused, his eyes closed tightly. 

"Hmmmm. I didn't know you had a cold weather fetish, Michael." 

His eyes flew open. "I don't. But I'm also not telling you anything else." 

"You don't have to," she answered triumphantly. "See?" 

He turned back. There was no giant blue rock, to be sure. But the couch was no longer covered in dark green brocade aliens. Instead, the fabric was patterned in swirls of blues, a thousand shades that were eerily similar to the shifting colors in the crystal he'd given her. Michael was speechless. 

"Well, if nothing else, you could always become an interior decorator," Maria teased. At his total lack of reaction, she added, "Sorry. Just channeling the Alex within. C'mon, Spaceboy, look a little happier, why don't you? This pretty much proves that we're in your dream, right?" 

"Yeah. I guess so." 

"So our little visitor could just be part of your dream too." 

He didn't answer her, and she looked at him speculatively. Something was definitely going on in that alien head of his. "What?" she demanded. All she got for her pains was a shrug, which elicited a further "What, Michael?" from her. 

He glanced over at her, almost shyly. "It...if it's not real, it could've been Tess." 

Tess? How on earth had she forgotten about Tess? Mentally sorting through the events of the previous spring, Maria shook her head. "I thought she was surprised when Isabel told her about dreamwalking. You know, like she couldn't do it," she objected. 

With a hesitant step towards her, Michael looked her directly in the eye. "I think she gave me those dreams last year. You know...the ones with me and...and Isabel." 

Oh. _Those_ dreams. Maria spoke, surprised at her own steadiness. "The ones where you were together? Where you were happy?" 

"Yeah." He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "That wasn't real, though. I wasn't really happy, Tess just made me dream I was." 

"But you were part of a family then, you and Isabel and...the baby," Maria said quietly. "I want you to have that." Seeing his expression, she rushed on, "Well, obviously not the being with Isabel part. And not the baby part either--I mean, you're seventeen years old. What I meant is--oh, I just wish you were part of something like that. You deserve a family." She grimaced. "It's not fair." 

"What?" 

"Max and Isabel got Mr. and Mrs. Evans. Alex and Liz both have parents. Even I have Mom." She frowned. "And when you finally heard from your planet, it was Max and Isabel's mother you saw. Not yours. It's not fair. Doesn't it make you angry?" 

Ouch. She was cutting a little too closely to the bone here. Of course it made him angry, or upset or something. Why else had he always been so intent on finding out where they came from, if not to go home? But he certainly wasn't comfortable talking about it, especially not with Maria. She was already far too familiar with all his myriad hang-ups; she didn't need to be subjected to any more. Trying to play it cool, Michael shrugged. "Lots of people don't have a family. So what?" 

"Oh, don't try and play stonewall with me, Michael!" Maria snapped. "You care about it, and since I care about you I guess I'm allowed to get angry! It's just...it's just..." 

"Not fair?" he said helpfully. 

Her eyes blazed into his for a full minute before she burst out laughing. "How can you take it like that?" she asked. 

"Life sucks. You get used to it." 

"Life does not suck," she lectured. "It just gets a little _challenging_ once in a while, that's all." Heading to the now blue-covered couch, she sat and began to fiddle with the hem of her pajama top. 

It was his turn to ask. "What?" 

Maria looked up. "What do you mean, 'what'?" 

"Something's going on in here," he said as he stepped closer and gently tapped her forehead. "What is it?" 

She hesitated, then burst out, "Michael, I'll be your family." 

"What?" he repeated, more confused than demanding this time. 

"I mean, until you find your own family, your own parents." 

If she expected some sort of sweeping romantic statement, all about how she already was his family, she was doomed to disappointment. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly as he crouched down in front of her. "Hate to break it to you, Princess, but I don't exactly picture you as my mother." 

She ignored the hated nickname and said soberly, "You know that's not what I meant, Michael." 

"Yeah, I know." Sitting on the floor, he leaned up against the couch, next to her legs. 

"Well, then." She gave him an expectant look. 

"Max and Izzy are closer to me than if they were really my brother and sister. I've got Liz and Alex as friends. And I've got you. I'm not alone, if that's what you're worried about." 

"But you sometimes feel that way." A noncommittal shrug was all the answer she needed. "Then you need us. You've got a brother and a sister, and friends, and you've got a girlfriend who loves you, even when you're being a total idiot," she said fondly, running her hand through his hair. She brightened suddenly. "And until you find your real parents, you can share mine." 

He looked up at her quizzically. "Yours?" 

"Yep. Half of my mom is now yours." 

"Uh...couple of problems with that. One, your mother hates me." 

Leaning forward to stress her point, Maria began, "She does not--" Michael continued over her protest. 

"Two, you can't just go dividing your mother in two like she was a...a Twinkie or something. Besides, if we had the same mother, wouldn't it be kind of gross? I mean, I couldn't kiss you or anything. It'd be incest." 

Maria stared at his solemn face, wondering what he was talking about. Wait--was that the tiniest glint in his eye? Michael was being funny--or at least he thought he was. Well, two could play at this game. 

"Well, it's not as if you didn't have experience with it," she said, doing her best to sound calm and reasonable and not break out into giggles. "I mean, you had that little dream fling with Isabel, didn't you? You must have a thing for your sisters. I just _knew_ you were kinky, Michael!" 

"That wasn't--I didn't--" he blustered. 

Maria couldn't help it. One glance at his shocked expression, and she was off in a riotous giggle fit. 

"If you...could just...see your face, Michael!" she wheezed between gusts of laughter. "Why don't I ever have a camera when I need one?" 

Michael's deep sigh signified just how put-upon he was feeling. "Don't you think it's time to stop picking on the poor helpless alien, Maria?" 

"Oh no, my extra-terrestrial friend. That day will never come," she teased, her eyes sparkling. "After all, _someone_ has to loosen you up a little. You can self-combust from too much brooding, you know." 

Michael scooched down, tilting his head back onto the couch to look up at her. "Is that a fact?" 

"Yep." She lightly ran a finger down the bridge of his nose. "So I've elected myself Chief Loosener. Or something." Her hand moved to his forehead and brushed through his spiky hair. Michael closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her fingers. They sat like that for quite a while, Maria stroking his hair and Michael really relaxing for the first time in weeks. Months, maybe. 

The comfortable silence was finally broken. Maria's hand stilled; without opening his eyes, Michael moved his head slightly in complaint. A squawked, "Michael?" brought him upright. He opened his eyes to see the once pale walls of the doorless room begin to darken, color leaching into them in eddies of changing intensity. From a creamy hue to the palest pink, past a rose that he absently noted was an exact match for the color of Maria's pouting lips. Then, still darkening, a ruddy shade, redder and redder, becoming for one heart-stopping moment the intense crimson of fresh blood, before darkening further to a red-black that almost shimmered with malevolence. Maria's hand withdrew from his hair, and he felt suddenly bereft. Unable to tear his eyes away from the bloody walls, he reached over to place a hand on her knee. 

Instead, he touched fabric. Not the overly-washed softness of her flannel pajamas, but the ridged silkiness of brocade. The couch. He swung around, the bloody walls forgotten. 

She was gone.  
  



	9. Chapter 9

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 9**_

Michael twiddled the pen between his fingers as he stared down at the final question on the History test in front of him. It had been surprisingly easy, probably because he'd taken the time to actually read the textbook beforehand. Of course, Mrs. Lyons hadn't come up with anything particularly difficult; it was her standard format of fill-in-the-blank, true/false and multiple choice questions. Not even a single essay question. Well, if all she wanted was a parroting of the facts, he could oblige. Since Maria had made him study for it in the first place. 

He marked a firm 'B' down for the last answer, turned the test face-down on his desk, and looked around the classroom. Only a few people were finished. Across the aisle, Maria nibbled on the end of her pen as she read a question, her brow wrinkled in concentration. 

Studying her face, Michael took note of how tired she looked. It wasn't really fair; after all, he'd wakened from the night's dream-laced sleep surprisingly well-rested. Of course, she hadn't gotten as much of it as he had. He remembered his panic when she'd disappeared from the dream without warning. It had been strong enough to shove him off the couch, heart racing. He'd been on his feet and across to the phone, pressing the numbers with a shaky finger, before he'd really known he was awake. And getting the busy signal hadn't helped any. 

He'd had to try the DeLuca number twice more before it rang through on the other end. Too worried about Maria to care if Mrs. DeLuca was the one to answer, he barked his girlfriend's name the moment the phone was picked up. 

"Michael?" he heard, and forced himself to start breathing again. 

"Are you all right?" he demanded. "What happened?" 

There was a pause on the other end, then Maria said, half to herself, "Then it _was_ real." 

"What? The dream? Of course it was real," Michael burst out, ignoring the illogic of that statement. "What happened? You disappeared so fast--" 

"Oh, that." Her voice held more than a little amusement. "Actually, I set my alarm early so I could get up and do some studying." 

"It's...five in the morning," Michael pointed out as he glanced over to his clock. 

"I know. I was the one who set my alarm, remember?" 

Michael's hand relaxed on the receiver. "So it just woke you up? You're okay? The line was busy when I called--" 

Maria sounded amused. "Well of course it was busy, Spaceboy. I was trying to call _you_." 

"Oh. I didn't think about that," he admitted sheepishly. "I uh...I guess I was a little..." 

"Freaked out?" Maria suggested. 

"Worried," he substituted. "You know, from everything." 

"I'm sorry--was that actually my boyfriend, the big, tough Michael Guerin, admitting he was freaked out?" Maria teased. 

He wasn't about to let her hold this over him. Best to bluff it out. "Yeah, so?" 

She sobered, her mind flashing back to the dream they'd shared. "Michael, do you think the voice was real?" 

"Why do you keep asking me that? I don't know. It _felt_ real...but unreal, too." He paused, then said reluctantly, "I guess we should tell the others. In case it was." 

"Of course we should tell the others! Why wouldn't we?" There was silence on the other end and Maria frowned. "Okay, Michael, what is going on with you?" 

"If it was real, they need to know," he said slowly. "If not...then it's just another sign that I'm fucked up." It was Maria's turn to be silent, letting Michael work things out in his own mind. "But I guess it's more important for them to know than for me to avoid looking like a nutcase. We'll tell them." 

"First of all, you're not 'fucked up'," Maria said forcefully. "Second, even if the voice wasn't real, then it was a part of a _dream_, you big dope. Although my mom would like to think differently, dreams don't have to mean anything. I mean, last week I dreamt that Liz and that dog from the Taco Bell commercials were dogsledding down Main Street. That doesn't mean I'm moving to Alaska." She pressed onward, her voice snapping out briskly. "So quit worrying about the status of your mental health, hang up the phone, and go back to sleep. I have to study. I'll see you at school. Oh--and I love you." 

And with that, there was a click and she was gone. After standing there for a moment, Michael hung up the phone and dutifully crossed back to the couch. He'd do what she said and go back to sleep. 

It hadn't taken more than two minutes for him to be dead to the world. Now, some nine hours or so later, the thought of her barked commands curled his mouth into a rueful smirk. Somehow she'd always seemed to get the best of him, whether by whining or teasing or yelling or doggedly refusing to give up-- 

A sudden shiver ran down his spine and pulled him out of his introspection. He was being watched--he could feel it. Glancing hurriedly around the room, he found it was only Mrs. Lyons, studying him from behind her desk. Michael allowed himself the unaccustomed luxury of staring defiantly back for a moment before lapsing into his more usual sullen shell. He dropped his eyes downward to the papers in front of him. The pristine whiteness of the back of the second page tempted him, and he almost uncapped his ballpoint in order to doodle. But he was well aware of the History teacher's penchant for marking down messy papers; determined not to let anything get in the way of winning the bet with Maria, he reluctantly refrained. Instead, he began twiddling the pen again, impatiently waiting for the class--and the school day--to be over.  
  
  
*****  


It was an even more impatient Michael who roughly turned the key and swung open his apartment door late that night. The 'meeting' of the six had gone pretty well. No one had taken a pitying stance about his renewed tendency to hear voices. Sure, Max had looked concerned--but then, Max usually looked concerned about something or other, frequently Michael. The important thing was that the meeting hadn't disintegrated into some sort of 'Let's all feel sorry for Michael, the poor bastard has enough problems already' pity-fest. Instead, it had been fairly business-like. 

Not that Michael was particularly pleased with the plan to infiltrate the Harding house. He'd liked his original plan better; it only risked the three aliens, and they could take care of themselves. Instead, the group had agreed to the amended plan--over Michael's vehement protests--and so tomorrow night he was going to have to lure Tess away from the house while Isabel took Alex and Maria in to plant the FBI camera and search for clues. Not that he didn't have faith in Isabel--her powers were far more controlled than his. She could protect the other two; Michael knew that. At least with his brain. His gut didn't seem quite so sure. 

He just wanted this to be over. 

And he had no idea how to get Tess away from the house, either. He hadn't been particularly amused by Alex's suggestion that he throw a sack over her head and just carry her off. The computer geek had ruined what had actually been a promising idea by going on to describe how Michael could then throw the other alien over the back of his black stallion, flip his cape over his shoulder, and gallop off into the New Mexican desert. Michael had hated Alex's lame 'Scourge of the Desert' joke when it had first surfaced; he didn't like it any better upon repetition. Besides, he kind of thought he might be afra--well, he might not like horses anyway. Because he'd never actually been near one. 

The whole kidnapping thing wasn't such a bad idea, though. Because Tess sure wasn't going to go with him voluntarily. And she was little enough that it wouldn't be hard to just cart her off. 

Except that they had no idea of the extent of her powers. She could make things very..._difficult_ for her abductor. So he was gonna have to talk her into it. 

And he was so good at verbal communication. 

If only he had Maria's talent for voluble prattle, or Alex's lively sense of humor, or Liz's ability to lay things out clearly and rationally. Or even Isabel's ability to flat-out shovel the bullshit, smiling madly all the time. Even reserved, quiet Max was more persuasive than Michael. But Max had to pump Nasedo for details, none of the humans were likely to get anywhere with Tess, and Isabel could break into the house without actually breaking anything. Basically, Michael was stuck. 

Grabbing a bowl and a box of generic cornflakes, Michael prepared a late dinner, eating the milk-and-Tabasco-laden cereal morosely. Oh well. In twenty-four hours, it would all be over, and he would have some answers. At least, he'd _better_ have them.  
  
  
*****  


"Hey, Spaceboy," Maria called from her comfortable position on the blue brocade fainting couch. Michael took one look at her and frowned. 

"You've got to stop this. You should stay out of my dreams." 

The happy expression on her face faded away, replaced by a mixture of annoyance and exasperation. "I'm not the one with the alien powers, Czech-boy. If anyone is doing this, it's you. Besides," she continued hotly, "what's so bad about it? Does it kill you to spend time with me?" 

Michael rolled his eyes. "That's not why, and you know it. You just need to get some rest. You looked like hell today." 

"First of all, thank you so much for your show of support. God, Michael, I know you don't have a lot of experience in the dating arena, but I'll give you a pointer: you don't go around telling your girlfriend she looks like hell, or things can get very frosty." 

"I'm not gonna lie to you," he said stubbornly, not allowing her warning to sway him in the least. "Besides, I thought chicks liked all that honesty crap." 

"Michael Guerin!" Maria sat upright. "There is a huge difference between being honest and telling someone she looks like hell. Especially when she knows it already. I do not need reinforcement on this, believe me." She softened a little. "It's nice that you're concerned about me, though. I think I like it." 

He gave her a smirk and moved to sit beside her. "Don't get too excited. It's for purely selfish reasons." 

"Selfish reasons?" 

"Tired Maria equals cranky Maria. Cranky Maria equals picked-on boyfriend, namely me. I'm just trying to save myself the hassle, that's all." 

"I am not cranky!" she snapped. 

"See my point?" 

She reached out and gave him a gentle swat. "You're insane," she commented in a fond tone. "And I was tired from getting up too early, not from visiting you. I mean, technically I'm still asleep, so I should be able to spend time with you and get rest at the same time. Besides, you were there, and you didn't look particularly tired today," she finished triumphantly. 

"I don't need a lot of sleep. It's different." 

"Different, schmifferent," she said waving her hands in dismissal. "I'm here, and nothing except the alarm clock is getting me out of here, so you're stuck with me, Spaceboy. You'll just have to suffer." 

"Well, it is torture," he admitted, ignoring her startled gasp. "I guess I'll just have to find a way to pass the time, that's all." He studied her intently for a moment, then bent his head to feather soft kisses along her jawline before settling in on her neck. Maria smiled. Michael must have a vampire fetish or something; he was always going after her neck. Not that she minded in the least, especially since she wouldn't even have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow. That was one of the benefits of being in a dream world--no tell-tale hickeys afterwards. 

Her breath caught as he found an especially sensitive spot under her left ear. He'd kissed her like that last night, too, when he--she stiffened. "Michael?" 

"Mmmmm?" 

"You do know it's me this time, not some dream Maria you've made up, right?" 

He pulled away and looked her directly in the eye. "Yeah, of course I know it's you." His lips quirked upwards, just the slightest bit. "If you weren't real, you wouldn't be wearing this," he said, flipping up the collar of the flannel pajamas she'd worn again, "and you wouldn't talk nearly as much." 

"I wouldn't, huh?" Her eyes sparkled. 

"Nope," he answered confidently. He leaned in again, his lips scant tantalizing inches from hers. 

"Then it's too bad you're stuck with the real thing, huh?" she laughed, wriggling out of his grasp and dancing over to stand beside the couch. 

"Hey, I was just trying to pass a little time," Michael objected. 

"Sorry, Spaceboy. I'm a talker, not a doer, remember?" 

"You can't be both?" he asked hopefully, then sighed. "Fine. So talk." Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked at her warily. 

It was her turn to be hopeful. "And you'll talk back?" 

Hesitating, he finally replied. "Maybe. If I can." 

"Well, you pick a topic then. We'll talk about that," she decided, sitting back down next to him on the couch. 

Michael was silent, staring at the once again cream-colored walls around them. 

"Michael? Why aren't you talking?" 

"Because I have the feeling that you want to talk about stuff I don't," he growled. 

Taking his hand in hers, Maria smiled gently at him. "No pushing, remember? I'm not going to force you to talk about anything you're uncomfortable with. I know it's hard for you." She looked down, more serious now. "I mean, maybe someday you'll be able to tell me about things. Or if not me, then...then someone else. When you decide you want to, or need to. But it doesn't have to be now. Or even me," she added in a small voice. 

"Maria--" he began unsteadily. 

"No, Michael. Not now. We can talk about anything. It doesn't have to be a world-shaking conversation, just two friends talking. About the weather. Or how you think you did on the history test today. Or...or anything." 

"Maria..." Michael swallowed, then started again. "If I could talk to anyone, I think it would be you. Not even Max or Izzy know...There's so much...You might know me better than anyone else," he fumbled. "I don't know what you saw, when I...when I gave you the flashes before, but..." 

She carefully did not look at his face, instead studying the hand that she still held. His long, blunt fingers had such power and such gentleness in them... After a moment, she spoke evenly. "Do you want to know what I saw?" 

"Yes," he burst out before shaking his head furiously. "And no. If I don't know, then it's easier to pretend..." He ground to a halt, then said hoarsely, "One thing. Tell me one thing." 

"Are you sure?" Maria asked, looking up at him. She thought she'd never seen such a desperate need in his eyes before. 

His answer was short. "Yeah." 

Rifling through her memories of that stressful day when Michael had lost control and forced the visions on her, Maria tried desperately to choose the right one. Obviously he realized what she was doing, because he bit out, "It doesn't matter which. Just tell me. I can take it. Hell, I lived through it once, didn't I?" But his fingers tightened around hers as he looked out across the room. 

"Okay." She hesitated, then began. "Most of it wasn't very clear. I mean, it was all so fast...But I could feel what you were feeling, I think." His jaw clenched, and she went on, very quietly, "I saw Hank, hurting you. You must've been about eleven then, I guess, and you couldn't protect yourself from him. He just kept hitting you with something...I'm not sure what it was, something long and thin..." 

"An old..." Michael stopped and cleared his throat. "An old fishing rod. I don't know why he had it, he never went fishing..." 

Somehow Maria managed to keep on speaking. "He...hit you, and he kept telling you things. That you were nobody, that you were worthless." 

"Yeah. I remember." Still staring at the wall in front of him, he ground out, "Was it all like that? Everything you saw? There wasn't anything--" He gave one bitter, painful bark of laughter. "No, I guess there wouldn't be, would there? Not exactly chock full of fun and laughter, my life." 

"It was all pretty...well, dark, I guess. But Michael, you were just upset, that's all, and so the things I saw were...emotionally charged. I know not everything in your life has been like that. Some things have been better." 

"Yeah, well, when I learn to control what I show you, you can see one of the better times," he shot back, then gave another laugh, less bitter this time. "Maybe I just won't bother. After all, you were there for most of them." He glanced at her, then back away. "So, we done pitying me now?" 

"I don't pity you." 

His voice was rough as he asked, "Yeah? Then why the tears?" 

She put one hand up to her cheek, surprised to find it damp. She hadn't realized. "I don't pity you," she repeated firmly. "I wish you hadn't had to go through all that. I'm sorry you did, but I don't feel sorry for you. That's for someone weak, who can't pull themselves out of the situation they're stuck in. You're not like that. You're strong, Michael, maybe the strongest person I know." She smiled. "But you're definitely not worthy of pity. I don't know. I think mostly what I feel is just plain mad." 

He turned toward her, startled. "Mad?" 

"Yeah. It's a good thing Hank moved out of town, 'cause otherwise he'd be on my butt-kicking list." 

"Great. Some strong person I am, needing a girl to protect me," Michael muttered. 

"Hey, you don't _need_ me to protect you, Spaceboy. Consider it a bonus." 

"A bonus," he repeated drily. 

"Yep." Her voice softened. "Hank was wrong. You know that, don't you? You are not worthless. You're very, very important." 

"Watch it or I'll get a swelled head." 

"I'm being serious here. You're one of the four most important people in my life. You, and Mom, and Liz and Alex. And if I had to choose just one of you...well, it probably wouldn't be Liz or Alex." 

He paused for a moment, then ventured, "What about your father?" 

"He left me. None of you did." 

"I did, Maria. I didn't want to, but...I did it anyway." 

"There's a difference, Michael. You came back; he didn't. And you left to protect me, because you thought it would be better for me. He left...I don't know for sure why he left. But I doubt it was for me." He laced his fingers through hers, and she looked down at their interlocked hands. "Do you know he never once called, or wrote, or anything? He was just gone. I was so sure that he would be back for my eighth birthday. I wouldn't open any of my presents, or cut the cake, or anything, until he got there." She smiled ruefully. "Mom eventually threw the cake out when it got moldy, and I think the presents are still stashed in a closet somewhere. I never opened them." 

"He was stupid. Your father." 

Maria gave a little nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, well, I like to think so." 

"He was. He missed out on you, and even I'm not stupid enough to do that. And your mom...she's fierce, you know? Fierce about her family. If I had a family like that...well, he was just stupid, that's all." 

Maria's eyes glinted. "Thank you, Michael." 

"Yeah, whatever," he mumbled, uncomfortable with the direction this whole conversation had taken. "So...you done talking now?" 

A chortle of laughter came from the girl next to him. "Do you really think I'll ever be done talking, Michael?" 

"Well, I can always hope, can't I?" he answered glumly. 

"You're the one who put the brakes on the other day," she reminded him. "Wanting to be friends and all, remember?" 

"I didn't mean we should go cold turkey. When I...when I kiss you, I don't have to worry about saying the wrong thing all the time, I can show you how I feel...even when I can't always say it." 

"I know how you feel. Not that it wouldn't be nice to hear you say it occasionally, but most of the time what you do shows how you really feel. You're not exactly a typical teenage guy, you know." 

"No kidding. I'm an alien, Maria." 

"Not that, silly. Most guys spend all their time thinking with their...their..." 

"Their what?" he asked innocently. 

Maria pouted, "You know what I mean." 

"Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it," he smirked. 

"Michael!" 

"Go on," he taunted, grinning down at her. 

Her heart skipped a beat. This was an expression she rarely saw on his face. A matching grin grew on hers. "As I was saying," she went on importantly, "most guys don't spend a lot of time using their brains--" 

"And you think I do?" he interrupted. 

"Fine, Michael. Most teenage boys spend all their time thinking about sex. Sex, sex, sex. There, you happy now?" 

"And what do you think I am, a eunuch?" 

Maria heaved a prolonged sigh. "You're not going to let me win this one, are you?" 

"Nope." 

"Look, all I meant is that I know you don't just like me for that, that you really...you really care about me, and it's nice." 

His voice was low. "I do. Care about you." 

"I know you do. You couldn't drive me this insane if you didn't." She smiled up at him. "How'd we get into all this deep conversation, anyway?" 

"Don't look at me--it was your idea," he said quickly. 

"It's just easy to talk in here, I think. Not that I ever have a problem with that," she admitted, "but..." 

"Yeah. I guess it is. Easier." 

"Then I hope I keep coming back," she announced firmly. "When you feel like talking, we'll talk. And when you don't, we'll...we'll play cards or something, and I'll do the talking. And sometimes..." She leaned closer to him. "Sometimes, Michael, I'll take a break from talking altogether." 

He didn't take her hint, though. Instead, he stared out across the room, a furrow across his eyebrows. "How you get in bugs me. Not the fact that you're in my dream," he hastened to assure her, "but not knowing how or why." He frowned. "Do you think you could wake yourself up if you wanted to?"' 

"I don't want to." 

"But do you think you could?" 

"I don't know. Why?" 

"The dreams you've been in before...first the desert, with Isabel, and then without her, and now this room...they're not the only dreams I have. Some things...some things you shouldn't see." 

"I've already seen--" she began. 

He shook his head, carefully not looking at her. "I don't mean dreams about what Hank..." he faltered, but she got the message. "Or even about what I did to Pierce...hell, you probably already saw that, too." 

Maria nodded once, and he seemed to brace himself against that knowledge. "There are other dreams...nightmares, I guess. I've had 'em all my life, and they're...I don't want you trapped in one of them, okay? They make the others seem..." He paused, searching for a word. "Pleasant." 

"Do you..." Maria hesitated, then went on, "do you hear voices in them?" 

"No. That just started after Pierce." For a moment, Maria thought he was about to say something else, but he clammed up. 

"What, Michael?" she demanded. 

"The voice I heard before--not the one from last night, the one that sounds like Topolsky? I...I still hear it." 

She turned immediately towards him, latching onto his arm. "Don't listen to it, Michael. Don't believe what it tells you. You are not a killer." 

He shook his head and looked down at her. "That's not what it says. I mean, that's what it says, 'Killer', but now it doesn't feel like it's calling me that. It feels like it's warning me." 

"Warning you of what?" she gulped. 

"Maybe that a killer is coming? Maybe that...maybe that I'll have to kill again? I don't know, Maria. But something is gonna happen, I can feel it." 

She clutched at him even more tightly. "I'm not letting you get hurt, Michael. And I'm not letting you shove me aside, just because you think it might be safer." 

"I didn't say that. But if something happens to you--" 

Her reply was sharp. "It won't." 

"You don't know that. You can't," he snapped, concern building in him. 

"You are not going to push me away again, Michael. Promise me you won't push me away." Her voice trembled, but her gaze was firm. 

"All right. I promise. But will you at least...at least see if you can wake yourself up from these dreams. That way if I'm having a nightmare and you get sucked into it...at least you can protect yourself from that. Since I can't." 

"Michael..." She gave up. "Fine. I'll try. But even if it doesn't work...well, I'm not going to stop spending as much time with you as I can. Awake or asleep, got that? I love you." 

"I know. You keep telling everybody." 

"Michael!" Her embarrassment colored her cheeks. 

Reaching out, Michael framed her face in his large hands and kissed her gently. "Ditto. Now go wake yourself up." 

"If it works, I'll call you," she promised. "If it doesn't, I'll...well, I'll probably still be here, won't I?" 

"Probably. Now go." 

Michael watched as she scrunched her eyes up in concentration. She murmured something under her breath; he could barely make out what it was. His silly pixie-girl was chanting "There's no place like home, there's no place like home..." 

Silly or not, it must have worked, because in one instant she was gone, and the walls and the couch started to dissolve around him and under him, and he was falling, falling through a void of time and space... 

And then the phone rang.  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 10**_

Peering cautiously out from behind a neighboring house--and thankful that no one had seen him lurking and called the cops--Michael kept an eagle eye on the front door of Tess Harding's place. He tried to force himself to relax his taut muscles, but didn't get very far. He had to face it--he was completely on edge. 

His hand went towards Maria's cell phone, tucked into his jacket pocket, but he forced himself to stop. No use calling anyone. He'd hear from Max on Liz's cell once Nasedo had arrived at their appointed meeting place, and there was no point in calling Isabel and the others until the coast was clear for them to break in. The only one left was Liz, who was running a sort of 'command central' from her room at home, and frankly, he really didn't have anything to say to her. 

Who was he kidding? He really didn't have anything to say to _anyone_. And yet, here he was, about to try and sweet-talk Tess Harding into telling him everything she knew. Or at least into leaving the house for a while. 

He used to be better at this stuff. He'd been able to distract that nurse long enough to switch Alex's blood for Max's when the other alien had been in a car accident. It had been easy. And he'd pulled off a successful front of selling candies for charity when he was scoping out the Sheriff's station last year. Of course, either time he hadn't taken much time to think about it; he'd just come up with the scheme and carried it out. But nowadays it seemed like he had a lot more riding on what he did. Things were more important to him now, so he couldn't just rush headlong into action. And he had more time for second, third and fourth thoughts. 

Maria's cell phone rang twice, and he jumped, glad there was no one around to notice his startlement. After a brief silence, it rang once more and then stopped. The signal to go. 

Frantically trying to remember everything Maria had said in her little 'coaching' session earlier that evening, he ran both hands through his hair, purposely disheveling it even more than usual. Having decided that a friendly approach wasn't going to cut it, and soundly vetoing any action that seemed likely to end up getting Michael hurt, his girlfriend had decided that 'desperation' was the direction to go in. So he'd sat there, listening to her go on and on about what he should do to be convincing, and idly wondering if acting in one school play made _everyone_ want to direct. 

As far as he was concerned, how he approached Tess didn't matter. Nothing he did was going to work. Well, maybe chloroform, but he had no idea where to get any. And no idea if it worked on alien-human hybrids either. He certainly wasn't going to ask Max or Isabel to play test subject to find out. 

Suddenly realizing he was wasting time, Michael gritted his teeth and headed across the street and up the front walkway. Standing at the front door, he braced himself, and then raised one hand to knock sharply on the door. 

He had no idea what he was going to say. 

But there was no response to his knock, and his spirits brightened. Maybe he wasn't going to have to say anything. Maybe she wasn't even home. The others could come over and do their bugging thing, and he could keep on the lookout in case either alien returned-- 

The door swung open and Tess looked up, her blue eyes gazing coolly at him. 

Oh, hell. Okay, okay. What had Maria said? Oh yeah, 'Play dumb.' He could manage that. "Is...uh, is he here?" 

"He's told me not to talk to you," the small blonde hybrid said. 

Dammit. Now what? "I...uh..." he stammered as he tried to come up with something--anything--to convince her to talk with him. When the hell had he become so tongue-tied? Here he was, acting like a total idiot, taking the 'playing dumb' idea _way_ too far. 

Without warning, Tess nodded. "I hoped you'd come. Let me get a jacket; we can take a walk, and talk or something." 

As she turned to the nearby coat closet, all Michael could do was stare, gape-jawed. How the hell had he managed _that_?  
  
  
*****  


"Shhhhh! Careful," Maria cautioned loudly as Isabel stepped up to the back door of the Harding house. The statuesque alien gave her a pointed look before placing a hand over the lock and silently turning the tumblers. Maria had the grace to look ashamed. "Oops. Sorry. I'm just nervous, that's all." 

"You're only breaking into the home of an untrustworthy, shape-shifting alien. Why worry?" quipped the third member of their breaking-and-entering party as he followed the two girls into the kitchen. Maria gave a disbelieving snort, and Alex continued, "So how do you think Michael got Tess away from the house?" 

"Must've laid some of the ol' Michael Guerin charm on her," Maria said absently, eyes scanning the room for anything clue-like. She didn't see anything, other than a suspiciously neat kitchen. Didn't they ever eat? Muffled snickers brought her head back around, and she said defensively, "What? Michael can be charming. Well...sometimes. When he wants to be." 

Isabel gave her a wide smile. "You're hung up on him worse than I thought. You're practically besotted." 

"Just because I love him doesn't mean I can't see him clearly. I mean he has plenty of faults, but he has all sorts of wonderful qualities, too," Maria pointed out. 

"Well, I know that," Isabel returned, smiling again. "I've known him practically forever. And I love him too. He's like my brother." 

"Hey, he's like my boyfr--he _is_ my boyfriend!" said Maria with a happy little jig. Isabel's smile turned into a full-fledged grin. 

"Ladies, ladies," Alex interrupted, fingering the strap on his backpack. "Can we save this for later? We'll get some ice cream, and you two can bond over the perfection of Michael Guerin. You can go all teenybopper over his 'wonderful qualities' and chant his praises until your vocal chords rupture. I'll even help you. At least with the ice cream. But right now, we have spy stuff to take care of." 

Maria let out a giggle. "Oh, yeah." 

"Right," added Isabel, her tone more businesslike. "Where do you want to set up the camera?" 

"Someplace inconspicuous," Alex decided. "But someplace where there will be a lot of activity." 

"Not the kitchen, then. It looks like it's never even been used," commented Maria. 

"Let's try the living room, where it was before. Since we're not as rushed as Liz was, we should be able to camouflage it a little better," suggested the alien. 

The three trooped out of the kitchen and studied the living room. Maria eyed the buddha statue sitting serenely on the grand piano. It had given them the clue that Tess was an alien. "There's always the statue," she commented. "That's where Liz put it before Nasedo startled her into breaking it." 

Alex and Isabel looked at each other; he shrugged and fished in his backpack for the FBI equipment. After carefully inserting it in an opening in the carved wooden base that held the statue, he stood back and studied it. "It's still visible," he complained. 

"That's because you know it's there," Maria told him. 

Isabel ignored both of them. Placing one finger on the camera, she changed its black casing to a satiny shade of rich brown, to match the wooden base. "There," she said in satisfaction. "Take another look, Alex." 

"Good work," he responded, nodding his approval. "If I didn't know it was there, I'd never see it." 

"Okay, then. Now for the fun part!" Maria said cheerfully. Taking in their expressions, she asked, "What? You've never snooped around in somebody's house before?" She shook her head. "Well, I'm obviously going to have to take charge of this operation, then. Alex, you start down here; Isabel and I will take the upstairs. Keep your eyes open for anything out of place. And watch for hidden drawers and secret passages and stuff like that," she instructed. 

"Somebody's been watching too many old movies," Alex whispered to Isabel, who managed to keep a straight face. "Hopefully we're more Abbott & Costello than Bela Lugosi." Louder, he snapped out briskly, "Sir! Yes Sir, Captain DeLuca, Sir! Any other instructions?" 

Maria grinned at him as she added, "Yes. Don't forget to look carefully through the trash. You can usually come across something revealing." 

"That's what Michael says," Isabel agreed. 

The look on the other girl's face changed from good humor to suspicion. "What? Michael says? _Michael_ says? Just when did he come up with this brilliant observation?" she demanded. 

Isabel was taken aback by this response. "Sometime last year, I think. I don't even know why I remember him saying it. Wait--it was after Max's accident, remember? We staked out the FBI agent's motel room, and Michael found Topolsky's phone number in the trash can." 

"_He_ found--_he_--" Maria sputtered. "What exactly did he tell you, Isabel?" Not giving the startled alien a chance to answer her, she seethed, "He took the credit for it didn't he? He didn't bother to mention that searching the trash was my idea, or that I was the one who dialed the number in the first place, did he? God, he wouldn't have found his own butt if he hadn't sat on it! I had to show him everything. Wait'll I get my hands on him...boy, is he going to be sorry!" 

Isabel, sorry she'd opened her mouth in the first place, was grateful as Alex chimed in over Maria's rant. "Hello, there--Spy stuff, remember?" 

With a growl, Maria stalked over to the stairway, muttering under her breath. Gesturing awkwardly, Alex stood back to allow Isabel--rolling her eyes--to follow the angry girl up the stairs. At that particular moment, he was profoundly grateful that he wasn't Michael.  
  
  
*****  


The object of Maria's ire wasn't having all that great a time, either. He and Tess had started off briskly from her house, an uncomfortable silence between them. They had almost reached the high school when they both turned and began to speak. 

"I don't--" 

"Did Nasedo--" 

Almost in unison, the two aliens stopped and eyed each other warily. 

"Go ahead," Michael said roughly. 

"No, it's all right. You first." 

They stood in the dim recesses of a streetlight, each waiting for the other to start. Finally, Michael bit the bullet. 

"So how come you're willing to talk to me?" 

"What's going on...it doesn't seem right," Tess said gravely. "I don't understand why Nasedo has changed all of a sudden." 

Michael grimaced. Great. So she didn't know either. But he had to keep her away from the house long enough for the others to do their thing. "You...uh, you don't know what's going on either?" 

Tess shook her head. 

"But you went against your orders, just to speak with someone who's considered to be an enemy." 

No reaction from the other alien. Shit. He had known this whole thing was a waste of time. 

"Well, as far as you are concerned, I _am_ the enemy. Realize that I think your whole 'Destiny' manifesto is bullshit. I don't care what you were brought up to believe; it ain't gonna happen." All of a sudden the words were pouring out of him. "What you did to Max, and all the trouble it's caused us...well, it really pisses me off. You didn't have any right to come in and screw things up for the rest of us just so we could live up to your version of some fairy tale bedtime story Nasedo told you." He could hear the harshness in his voice, but it didn't bother him in the least. Because this tiny blonde thing--even smaller than Maria or Liz--was the enemy, right? She'd loused things up for everyone he'd cared about, and he didn't trust her or her agenda in the least. "And that doesn't even begin to cover what Nasedo did. Kidnapping Liz, luring Pierce to the Carnival...Max could have died because of him. And where would your precious 'Destiny' even be without Max, huh? Answer me that!" 

She was silent for a moment. Then softly, without looking at him, she said, "Nasedo didn't tell bedtime stories." 

"What?" he bit out. 

"We don't need anything as foolish as that. Only enough to hide what we are, to keep us safe. Anything else would be a waste of time." She met his eyes directly. "What good did your bedtime stories do you?" 

He gave a rough laugh. "Boy, are you asking the wrong person. Being. Whatever. Don't get the idea that just because I was raised as a human that everything was all happiness and light. Because that's another fairy tale for you." 

She blinked and looked away again. Michael's eyes narrowed. For some reason, this seemed to have surprised her. 

"So why the hell are you out here, talking to someone who hates everything you stand for?" he snapped, his frustration really kicking in. 

Again with the blinking. But all she said was, "Don't." 

"Don't what? Don't talk to you? Or don't hate you? Give me one reason why I shouldn't!" 

"Because we're the same. We..." 

Michael shook his head vehemently. "We are not the same. We may be the same species, but that's as far as it goes. And that's as far as I want it to go." Part of him was aware that this was not the best way to keep Tess out of the way, but the rest of him, the part that was burning with the anger and injustice he'd managed to suppress for the last several weeks--ever since his last visit to the caves--that part didn't care. 

For the first time that evening, a very human expression crossed Tess's face. "I'm sorry if it messed up your perfect little life to have me come along," she cried out, ignoring his bitter reaction. "But everything I told Max, everything in the message from home...that was all true. We _were_ sent here to escape our enemies--our real enemies--until we could go back and rescue our people, Max _was_ the leader, and Isabel his sister. I was his wife, I _was_, and you--" 

"All this is bullshit!" Michael shouted back, interrupting her. "All you've got is what Nasedo has told you!" 

"I can prove it. The book." 

"Nasedo could have made it. Or even you. Wonderful things, those alien powers," he sniped, not caring that he was standing on a public sidewalk. 

"The message from home--" Tess began desperately. 

"Isabel told us all about your ability to put visions in people's heads, make them see things that aren't there. You did it to Max, didn't you? And to Isabel and me? So why not a whole mass hallucination, with a loving message from Mommy?" 

"You have to trust me," Tess whispered. 

His response was swift and cold. "Why should I?" 

"Then read me." 

He stilled his agitated movements, struck by her quiet desperation. "What?" 

"You can do that, can't you? Touch someone, and get a sense of them? You can't lie in that, you can only show the truth." 

"The truth--" He'd seen Maria's red sneakers, and that had been true. And Maria had seen some of his horrors--more than he would have liked. And from the one she'd described last night, that was spot on, too. If only there was a way to be sure that it wasn't a trick...He couldn't control what he'd shown Maria; if Tess couldn't control it either, maybe he could learn something from her after all...Michael wavered, tempted. 

"Just do it. I won't block you, I promise," Tess assured him, her gaze direct and open. 

Years of not trusting anyone made it hard for him to just acquiesce. What if it was a plot, and she would make him think he saw something that really wasn't there? Or what if she got things from him at the same time as he did from her? She could be on an information hunt. After all, that's what he was doing, wasn't it? And what if she saw too much, and found out what the others were up to? He couldn't risk it, not with the others' safety on the line. No matter how much he wanted to know what was really going on... 

As he was coming to this decision, Tess was seemingly making one of her own. She took matters--and Michael's clenched fists--into her own hands and began to raise them to her face. 

"No." Michael pulled his hands away from her, ignoring the crestfallen look that washed over her face. 

"Michael..._please_." 

"Well, well, well. Michael Guerin and Tess Harding," said a dry voice beside them. Turning abruptly, Michael took in the red convertible that had pulled up at the curb next to them. 

"Valenti," he said, giving an abrupt nod to its driver. 

"Hmmm...Saturday night and the two of you together. Is there something we should know?" Kyle asked acerbically. "Is this a meeting of uh..._intergalactic_ proportions, or did you dump Maria?" 

"It's not--" Michael began, only to be interrupted by a horrified Tess. 

"He _knows_?" she gasped. 

Turning towards her, the sheriff's son answered. "What, about the whole outer space thing? It's hard to miss the alien activity when you get shot and one of them heals you. You were there, remember?" 

"I didn't...I thought you were unconscious," she said, obviously flustered. Michael watched her skeptically. 

Kyle grinned. "It's been six months. I've been awake some since then. Plus I've had a few chats with my father, and even Guerin here." He turned to Michael, and his manner became a little less friendly. "So is this something Maria should know about?" 

Damn. He couldn't actually say that she already knew about it because it was a plot to remove Tess while they searched her house for clues...And why did Valenti care, anyway? "It doesn't mean anything," he managed, folding his arms across his chest. 

"Uh-huh," Kyle said unconvincingly. 

Michael watched Tess as she looked back and forth between Kyle and him. She gave a nonchalant smile. "It's nothing. I can talk to Michael anytime I want," she said bravely. 

Michael's radar started sending out warning signs. What was going on now? Was she going to try and make trouble between him and Maria? Before he could begin to protest, he caught her next words. 

"He's my brother. I think." 

His stomach suddenly fell towards his feet. _What?_  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 11**_

Placing Liz's cell phone back in his coat pocket, Max stepped away from the Jeep and looked out across the desert sand to Ed Harding's car. The shapeshifter stopped about thirty feet away, and climbed out. 

"Thanks for meeting me," Max called across to the other alien. Nasedo crossed the sands, his feet light and an affable smile on the Ed Harding face he wore. 

"You called. Although I don't know why." 

A serious expression crossed Max's face. "Look, I know you're not happy with the whole Michael situation, or that the three of us are sticking together. I was hoping you'd...reconsider and tell me what's going on." 

Nasedo looked at him, obviously amused. "Now why would I do that?" 

"Because it affects our ability to save our planet. Because it's the right thing to do," Max answered staunchly. "And because, if you didn't want me to know about it, you wouldn't still be hanging around Roswell. You'd be back in Washington." 

"Oooh, aren't you the clever one!" Nasedo sing-songed, gently mocking the boy in front of him. "But my reasoning still stands. You need to forget about telling your second. Forget he exists, even. He can't be mixed up in this, or the whole planet you talk so blithely about saving will suffer for it." 

"But why? What's he done?" Searching the other alien's face for an answer--any kind of answer--Max came to a sudden realization. "You're afraid of him. You're afraid of Michael," he whispered in shock. 

"And you aren't? It's vital that you be very discreet about who and what you are, and your second goes putting himself into the limelight, calling attention to himself? Do you know how dangerous that is?" 

Max shook his head. "No. That's not all there is to it. There's something else. What?" 

Not acknowledging the question, Nasedo posed one of his own. "Have you noticed anything different about him? Has he changed in any way, even the smallest bit?" he demanded. 

Taken aback, Max admitted, "Well, yes and no. He's had a few problems, but they're under control--I told you that the first time you called, weeks ago." 

"What kind of problems? Problems with his powers? Has he been unlike himself? Acting rashly?" the shapeshifter pressed. 

Acting rashly? That wouldn't be at all unlike Michael. But actually, his reckless streak had lost some of its hold, held back by too many other pressures. Pausing, Max thought back to everything that had happened to his best friend over the last few months. He had been through so much. If there was a reason for it all, and Nasedo knew why...Maybe Michael needed to know, too. That the things that happened to him weren't his own fault, that there was a reason for it...If there was any chance to get some answers for Michael, he had to take it. 

And so, ignoring the tiny prick of conscience that told him he was betraying his friend, Max told Nasedo about the mental trauma Michael had suffered, and how he'd locked part of himself into his own mind. He watched the other alien very carefully, hoping to pick up on some clue from his expression, but Nasedo remained calm, the slightest hint of unwavering amusement remaining on his face. Max was about to go on and mention the voices Michael had been hearing, and the blue crystals he'd created, when something--maybe a little rubbed-off remnant of his friend's paranoia--made him stop. Silent now, he waited. 

Nasedo eyed him oddly for a moment, then commented, "So it took a human to help get him out of it. Interesting." 

"Why?" asked Max. "We were brought up as human. Our whole lives, we've been surrounded by humans. Our lives are intertwined with theirs. It's not that strange that a human should help." 

"Yes. Interesting," Nasedo repeated slowly. "I'll have to consider how we can best use the situation--" 

"_Use the situation?_" Max burst out before reining in his temper. Getting angry wasn't going to help Michael, or get them any information. He had to keep control over things... "Tell me what's going on, so I can help. Please." 

"You and your sister were born to lead, to serve the planet. Even Tess was raised that way. He, on the other hand...he was not brought to be your second through birth. He was intended--" For a moment, Nasedo looked like he'd said too much. "There are more layers here than you can understand." Turning away from Max, he started back across the sands towards the car he'd arrived in. Halfway there, he looked back at the teenager, standing silently by the Jeep. "Be careful," the shapeshifter warned. "Your second...he is not what you think he is." A sly expression entered his cold eyes. "He's certainly not what _he_ thinks he is."  
  
  
*****  


Michael stared ahead, his mind pulled in several places at once. He was Tess's brother. He had a sister. What he'd always wanted, more than anything, was family--a place where he belonged--and now...the thoughts skipped around in his head, dancing through his mind as lightly as dandelion fluff blown about on a warm summer day. And through this, like the warning sound of a deep bell, rang other thoughts. He couldn't trust her. They already knew she'd lied more than once, and manipulated them. This could be just another trick...But what if it wasn't? A sister...something he'd tried to make Isabel into--he certainly loved her like one, but it wasn't ever quite right. But the _idea_ of it...now that felt right. It felt right that he had a sister. That the hole inside him that Max and Isabel and even Maria hadn't been able to fill belonged to someone, a part of him and who he was before and who he had become... 

"_Michael._" The sound of the voice and the tugging at his jacket sleeve brought him back to the sidewalk with a thud. Tess. And Valenti was sitting there in his red convertible, watching the two of them. Why was he even there? It was too chilly to be riding around with the top down, anyway; the jock was nuts. The tugging on his jacket hadn't stopped, and he looked down again. She was talking excitedly, but his ears weren't really hearing what she was saying. 

His sister. Why did the thought hurt so badly? Besides, if Tess were his sister, he'd have known it. The moment he'd first seen her in the Evans's kitchen, he would have known. He wouldn't have spent the last six months barely even thinking about her. There would have been an instant connection, an awareness... 

But a sister...somehow it felt so right. And so wrong, at the same time. His stomach began to clench and his throat to burn. Part of him wondered idly if this was what it was like to feel sick, like humans did. He didn't know. It was different than his alien illness, when he'd gotten so out of balance. His head pounded, echoing the thudding in his veins. His sister. His sister. Sister sister sister sistersistersistersister... 

Thrusting out a hand, he broke Tess's grip on his jacket sleeve. "No!" he gasped out, his eyes burning. He took a few steps backward, not sure if he was denying her or himself. She put out a beseeching hand... 

...and Michael turned and ran.  
  
  
*****  


Shaking his head, Alex let the cushion fall back onto the leather sofa and turned to look around the room. He hadn't had any more luck here than in the kitchen, hall closet, living room, or bathroom. None of them looked at all lived in. It was kind of ironic--no one seemed to be living in the living room, and a family room for a pair of aliens that weren't a family...although he did like the big-screen TV and the top-of-the-line sound system. 

He supposed they actually did live in the house, or at least that Tess did. There was a healthy supply of sodas and yogurt cartons in the refrigerator, and plenty of stuff on the shelves in the kitchen; it just all looked so pristine. Of course, his room might be just as neat if he had super alien cleaning powers. 

He wondered just why Maria and Isabel were taking so long upstairs, though. He'd gone through the entire downstairs, and there were two of them to cover upstairs. You'd think they'd have been done first. Unless they got caught up in another bonding session over Michael, the lucky dog. 

Okay, he admitted it. He was jealous of Michael and his importance in both their lives. Isabel's for obvious reasons, but Maria's too. Not that he had ever felt anything even vaguely romantic for his spitfire friend, but he envied the intensity between her and the rebellious alien. As much as Maria and Michael fought, you could be darn sure that their relationship was never going to be as bland as plain old friendship. 

Which seemed to be all that was on the cards for him with Isabel. Sure, she deserved the best, not some goofball computer geek, but wasn't the best someone who would really care about her for who she was, not for the perfect shell she wore on the outside? And if that someone just happened to _be_ a goofball computer geek... 

Oh, forget it. He had to stop daydreaming and wind this up before Tess or Nasedo came back. Taking the stairs two at a time, he called, "This must be trash day, Maria, because there wasn't any trash to look through." 

A voice answered from the other end of the hall. "What?" Alex strode down the hallway and leaned against the bathroom door. 

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Nice gloves, DeLuca. When you're done in here, I think we've got some dishes at home that could use a good scrub." 

Maria looked up from the medicine cabinet she was searching. "Well, I didn't want to leave fingerprints," she answered reasonably. She pointed one bright yellow rubber glove-clad finger at him. "You shouldn't be taking any chances, either." 

"As far as I know, my fingerprints aren't recorded anywhere, so I think I'm safe." 

"Not yet," she said darkly, then sighed. "Any luck downstairs?" 

"Nope. And there wasn't any trash," he repeated. 

"None up here either. I don't get it--how can you not create trash?" 

"Maybe they just make it disappear. Or else they have a really good recycling plan," Alex suggested. "I'm done with the first floor. Didn't find anything suspicious." 

"Me either," Maria sighed again. "It all looks so _normal._ Obsessively neat, but normal. And I hate to admit it, but Tess has some really fabulous shoes." 

Alex snorted. "Only you would take time from a secret plant-and-search mission to gather fashion tips." 

"I had to look in her closet, didn't I? Something could've been hidden in there," Maria protested. 

"Was there?" 

"Not that I could see," she grumbled. "Maybe Isabel is having better luck." 

"Well, she'd better hurry up. We probably don't have much time left." 

"We're fine. If either of them were headed back here, we'd hear from Michael or Max. They'll give us time to slip out," Maria reminded him. Closing the cabinet, she said, "All done here. Let's go see if we can give Isabel a hand." 

"Sure." 

They found the alien pacing in what was probably the master bedroom. It looked like something from a decorating magazine. "I didn't know shapeshifters needed beds. Don't they just melt down and sleep in buckets or something?" Maria commented. 

"You've been watching too much _Star Trek_," Alex answered. "And it might just be camouflage, anyway." He turned to Isabel. "Any luck?" 

Isabel stopped counting under her breath and looked at the two humans. "I'm not sure," she said, frowning. "Look at this." She slid open the doors to a walk-in closet. 

Maria eyed the rows of boring-looking business suits and sports shirts. "Well, we know where Tess did _not_ get her fashion sense," she muttered. 

Ignoring her, Isabel said, "The closet goes to here, see? And over on the other side is the bathroom. It's pretty big, and it should back up against the closet wall, but something's off. The spacing doesn't work out." 

"You mean I might have been right?" Maria squeaked in excitement. "There might be a hidden passage there?" 

"I don't know. It might just be extra space for the pipes. I'm not a plumber; I don't know how much room all that takes." 

"Well, let's find out." Darting forward, Maria grabbed the arrangement of silk flowers and moved it across the room to the nightstand. With a grin, Alex shoved aside the chest of drawers the floral arrangement had been sitting on, and then reached up and removed a geometric painting from the wall. 

"It's all yours," he said to Isabel. 

She approached the blank expanse of wall hesitantly, reaching out to knock on it. Then, with a shrug, she waved her hand over the off-white paint. 

None of them was all that surprised to see the dark handprint that appeared at shoulder-level. Smiling triumphantly, Isabel placed her hand across the marking. 

Years later, Maria could still picture what happened next as clearly as if it were projected in slow-motion onto some video screen in her head. One moment, they were standing, intent on their search; and the next, a shockwave of sickly green light burst from the wall, ripping savagely into Isabel. Her clothes, her skin, even her hair took on a chartreuse cast. Alex, standing close behind the alien, was thrown to the floor like a discarded marionette. Across the room, Maria had hardly enough time in the fraction of a second given her to react to brace herself...and the light faded out, still a few feet from her. 

She took a shaky breath and looked at the still forms of her friends, crumpled on the floor. "Alex," she whispered. "Isabel?"  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 12**_

"Oh my god. Oh my god," Maria whispered numbly as she stood, frozen. They were dead. Alex and Isabel were dead. The strange alien light had killed them. They-- 

Snap out of it, DeLuca! She gave herself a mental slap, and was suddenly able to move again. Or rather, her frozen legs buckled and she landed hard on the taupe-colored carpet. Quickly scrambling across the room, she knelt on bruised knees at Alex's side. 

Don't let him be dead. Don't let him be dead. Why could she not feel a pulse? With a growl at her own stupidity, she stripped off the rubber gloves she was still wearing and resumed her mantra. Don't let him be dead. Don't let--THERE! Her fingers detected the strong rhythm of his pulse. He was alive and breathing. And Isabel-- 

Isabel had taken the brunt of the explosion, or attack, or whatever it was. Fumbling for the alien's wrist, Maria tried to find a pulse. It should be there, not much different than a human's if Michael's heartbeat was anything to go by...come on, c'mon...where was it? 

Dropping Isabel's hand, Maria placed trembling fingers on the other girl's throat. There was a pulse point, that's why you put perfume there, she thought irrelevantly. She just had to find it, that's all... 

A groan from behind her had her quickly turning, although her hands never stopped their search for a heartbeat. Alex was stirring, moving his head groggily from side to side. His eyes remained closed. 

"Alex!" Maria called sharply. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah...I think so," he mumbled. "Did you get the license plate of the spaceship that hit me?" 

"Listen to me, Alex. Isabel--I can't find a heartbeat," the girl cried out. "And I don't think she's breathing. Get her phone and call Max." 

As Alex scrabbled over to find the cell phone, Maria frantically tried to remember everything she'd learned about CPR in health class, and tried less successfully to ignore the clammy, rigid feel of Isabel's green-tinged skin. It would be okay, she just had to hang in there until Max came... 

Open an unrestricted airway, wasn't that first? Maria carefully tried to tilt the alien's head back, but it wouldn't move, almost as if it had been frozen in place. Blinking the sudden tears from her eyes, Maria framed Isabel's face with shaking hands and tried to will her to revive. Isabel could do it. She just had to stick with them, or thaw or something already. If she would just start breathing... 

Without warning, Maria felt her hands begin to tingle, as if they'd been asleep and now circulation was finally returning. Too intent on the still body in front of her, she didn't even notice at first as her fingers began to glow, but the immediate leaching of the sickly green tint from Isabel's face where she touched her did catch her attention...and then she saw her own hands. "Alex!" she squawked, and the teenager looked up from the phone he was hurriedly dialing. 

They both watched, wide-eyed, as a shimmering silver light crept from Maria's palms, surrounding the fallen alien and chasing back her pea-green color. In its place was left rosy, healthy-looking skin. In one instant, Isabel moved and coughed, the glow pulled itself back into Maria's outstretched hands and disappeared, and Maria fell awkwardly over. 

She lay there, not moving, even as she heard Alex calling Isabel's name and Isabel--wonderful, _alive_ Isabel blessedly answering. And then Alex was crouched by her side, checking on her much as she'd checked on him moments earlier. She opened her mouth, ready to express her fear and joy and confusion... 

"Wow." 

"You okay, 'Ria?" Alex asked softly, using Liz's pet name for her. 

Maria pushed herself up to a sitting position. "Yeah. You guys?" Her gaze met Isabel's, and suddenly they both burst into shaky--and slightly hysterical--laughter. 

"Let's not do that again, okay?" the alien said. "Ever." 

"You're on," Maria responded. She looked around the room. "So what happened?" 

"That's what I'd like to know," Alex put in. "How did you--" 

The shrill ringing of the cell phone he still held cut him off. He answered it warily. 

Maria listened halfheartedly to the brief conversation he held, quickly gathering that it was Max on the other end. Physically she felt fine, but emotionally...she was struck by a sudden urge to see Michael, and her mother, and Liz and Max and the Sheriff and the mailman and that old guy who always came into the Crashdown and sat for hours over one cup of coffee...just to make sure that everyone was okay, that the terrifying few minutes she'd just been through were just a dream and everything was all right. 

"Okay. We'll see you there," Alex said, ending the call. He turned to the two girls. "We have to clear out. Nasedo's on his way back." 

"Oh god." Taking his outstretched hand, Maria pulled herself to her feet and then helped him haul a shaky Isabel upright. "We've got to put everything back," she said urgently, heading across the room for the floral arrangement she'd moved such a short while ago. 

Alex's voice stopped her in her tracks. "Uh...we have a problem." She turned with some trepidation to see Isabel studying the dark handprint which now seemed burnt into the pale wall. 

"Can't you make it disappear?" she asked. 

"I'm not sure I want to try," the alien admitted. "I didn't really like what happened the last time I touched it." 

Oooh. Isabel had a point. But still..."Well, we can't just leave it there!" An idea struck her, and she moved forward to thrust the vase into Isabel's hands. "Move the chest back, Alex," she commanded as she picked up the abstract painting that was leaning against it, unscathed by the burst of light. He shoved it quickly against the wall, and Isabel replaced the floral arrangement on top. Holding the picture out, face down, Maria said, "Isabel, can you manipulate the wire on the back?" 

Instantly understanding what Maria had in mind, Isabel placed her hand over the back of the painting. A moment later, the artwork was back on the wall, its newly lengthened wire allowing it to hang just low enough to cover the handprint. 

"Hopefully that will hide it, at least for a while," Maria said. 

"Come on," Alex hissed. "He'll be back any moment." 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming." And with one last look around the room, Maria grabbed her rubber gloves and followed them out.  
  
  
*****  


For a long moment, Tess watched Michael fade into the distance before letting her outstretched hand drop. She stood there, feeling strangely abandoned. It was always the same with him. With all three of them, really. Why couldn't he just accept what was? Was his human side getting in the way of his seeing clearly? Was this why Nasedo was so against him? 

A raspy voice spoke from behind her. "That was harsh." 

Startled, she swung around. She'd forgotten Kyle Valenti was even there. "What do you mean?" she asked crossly. 

"Your loving brother," was the snide response. "Taking off like that." 

For some reason, she felt the need to explain it. "Well, it wasn't how I hoped he'd take the news. I guess I don't know him well enough to know how he'll react yet." 

"Wait a sec--you just told him? Now?" Kyle asked, eyebrows raised. At the alien's calm nod, he continued, "You've been in town--what, seven months?--and when you finally decide to tell him the big news that he's your brother, you don't even tell _him_? You tell me, in front of him?" He shook his head in amazement. "Man, dumb move. You two make a good pair." 

Tess glared at him. How dare he? Didn't he realize what she could do to him, the stupid human? 

With a chuckle, Kyle reached for the ignition and shut down the convertible's engine. "Hot but clueless," he mused aloud. Leaning over, he opened the passenger door. "Hop in." 

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. 

"I'm not going to do anything to you," he assured her. "In fact, you're probably a bigger danger there than I am." 

Was he kidding? Why would she even bother with him? He was of no importance in the scheme of things, after all. 

"Look, just get in, okay? Let me give you a little advice." 

"Advice," she repeated doubtfully. 

"Yeah. Words of wisdom from a guy's point of view." 

A guy's point of view. Actually, that might be useful. And with Michael evidently reacting from his human side, maybe it wouldn't hurt to get that point of view either. The human one. With mixed trepidation and curiosity Tess approached the car and sat down gingerly, before turning to look at him. 

"I'll be the first to admit that I don't know Guerin all that well, but it's pretty obvious that you made a hash of the whole announcement. Somehow I don't think he takes too well to surprises. You know, he gets the whaddayacallit, the fight or flight instinct. So why'd you wait so long?" 

Tess looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "I just found out. I didn't know before. I mean, I knew about Max and Isabel, but not Michael. I just knew that he was one of the Royal Four, and second-in-command to my husband." 

"Riiight. Your _husband_," Kyle drawled. "I don't know how things are on your planet, but here on Earth, marriage is 'til death do you part.' Actually, most of the time it doesn't even last that long," he corrected himself, thinking of his own parents, "but even if it did, you died. You're not married any more." 

"Max and I aren't from Earth." 

"No kidding. I have the non-hole in my chest to prove it. You know, I don't particularly like Max Evans, but I wouldn't wish this whole save-the-planet scenario on anyone. I mean, the guy's seventeen. So are you, for that matter. Isn't it a little bit young to be thinking of marriage?" 

"It's the way it is. We four have to bond to be able to save the planet." 

"Oh, you have to _bond_," Kyle repeated with a snicker. "Why? You can't just work together? You know, be equal partners in the whole save-the-world deal? Why get all hung up on the relationship crap?" 

"That's the way it is," she repeated firmly. 

"Why?" 

"It just is." He shook his head, and she demanded, "Why do you care, anyway?" 

He actually seemed to consider this for a moment before shaking his head again. "I have absolutely no idea. One day things are normal, the basketball team's winding up a great season, and I'm being hit on by the hot new girl in school. The next thing I know I've been shot, aliens exist, and I owe my life to one. The whole thing sort of sucks you in. You get involved." 

"You shouldn't be. There's no place for humans in this." 

"Hate to break it to you, Tess, but you're surrounded by humans. You can't expect us not to be involved. And since I _am_ involved, let's get back to that advice I was giving you, shall we?"  
  
  
*****  


When Max entered the abandoned warehouse where they'd once again set up shop, Alex was fussing with the video monitor. "Almost ready," the teenager said, looking up. "Just one more hookup and--Gotcha! Chez Harding." 

"I picked Liz up on the way over," Max said rather unnecessarily, since the brunette was right by his side. "How did it go?" 

"The camera setup went great," Alex answered. "We have picture--see for yourself." Liz and Max moved around the other side of the table and regarded the empty expanse of the Harding's living room. "No activity yet," Alex added, his fingers working busily. "Or sound." 

"And the rest?" Liz asked. 

"Not so good," put in Isabel wryly. Max and Liz swung around at the sound of her voice. She and Maria were sitting on the worn couch at the back of the room, a remnant of whoever had last had an office there. 

"We may have found something, but it was booby-trapped," the alien said shortly. "And you called, so we had to get out of there." 

"What was it?" Max asked, his ears perking up. Maybe his efforts to distract Nasedo had been worthwhile after all. 

"A hidden room or something," his sister answered. "Sealed with an alien handprint. It knocked Alex and me out." 

"You're all right?" Max demanded, crossing towards her. 

"We're fine, thanks to Maria," she answered. 

As she listened to the siblings converse, Liz looked in concern at her best friend, who was still sitting on the couch, uncharacteristically silent. Her face was pale, her eyes shadowed. 

"Maria?" 

The girl started, as if coming back from some far-off galaxy of thought. "Hey, Liz." 

"What's wrong?" Liz asked bluntly. 

"I'm not sure," Maria answered slowly. "I don't know how I did it, but I did. But it's impossible. Liz, I--" 

Alex's voice rang out across the room, cutting her off. "Nasedo's back." 

Isabel and Maria stood up, but a very confused Liz put out a hand to stop her friend. "It's all right. We should wait for Michael anyway," Maria said, crossing over to the monitor. Silently they grouped around the table, eyes intent on the small screen. 

"It's showtime, buddy," Alex told the flat image on the screen. "And until I can get the sound working on this thing, some visual aids would be nice. Got a scrapbook of your master plan to share with the class?" he encouraged. The only thing it got him were a few sideways glances from his gazing companions. The shapeshifter merely strode from the room and out of camera range. 

"Damn," Max muttered. 

"Give it some time, Max," Liz advised the dark-haired alien. "It's too much to expect answers in the first five minutes. Wait until he and Tess are both there; we might learn something then." 

"I know. It's just hard to wait," Max admitted. 

"You sound like Michael," Isabel commented with a smile. 

Her brother frowned. "Where is he, anyway? I wouldn't have thought he and Tess had that much to talk about." 

"Maybe he took the Desert Prince idea after all," Alex said, trying to lighten the mood. "The Scourge of the Desert rides--" 

"Will you cut it out with that joke, Alex?" Maria begged. "He really doesn't like it." 

"Sure. Sorry," said the somewhat abashed teen. 

But it was as if she didn't even hear. "Something's wrong. He should have called by now. He didn't think he'd be able to keep Tess occupied for two minutes, let alone two hours," she said, beginning to pace across the room. "We've got to go find him." 

"Uh, Maria? We don't actually have to look too far," put in a suddenly subdued Alex. 

Isabel turned and looked where he was pointing. "Oh my god." 

There on the monitor in front of them was Nasedo. He'd come back into camera range without them noticing. And standing in front of him was a very familiar, somewhat disheveled form. Michael.  
  
  
*****  


"There's no point in your being here," the shapeshifter said coolly. "You're of no use to us any more." 

Michael was oddly unemotional. Some part of him felt he should be screaming at the top of his lungs, trying to force answers to all his questions from the reticent being in front of him. The rest of him--any part that had ever truly longed for home or felt abandoned and small and helpless--that part was too focused to give a damn what he should or should not be feeling at any particular moment. There was only one thing--one question--that mattered right now. 

"I'm not here to be 'of use'," he responded, his voice even. 

Nasedo gave a sharp laugh. "So, you're here to make threats. You won't get very far."  
  
  
*****  


Maria caught her breath as the image of the shapeshifter moved. She couldn't tell what they were saying--she was never any good at reading lips--but something about Michael was off. She wasn't sure exactly what. Maybe the way he stood, like he had forgotten himself completely, and only sheer force of will was holding him together...half human or not, for a moment he looked entirely foreign to her. She shivered. 

And then the small image on the left put out a hand, palm out, fingers spread. Oh god.  
  
  
*****  


Michael didn't so much as flinch. "Go ahead," he said steadily, and waited for the other alien to blow him away. His voice echoed weirdly in the room, as if the space were bigger than it really was. He idly noted the sound of a passing car, running rather roughly. Somebody needed a tune-up. 

For a moment, the shapeshifter didn't move. Then he smiled, a cold, terrible, inhuman smile. "I could kill you right now." 

"Go ahead," the boy repeated. "If I'm such a danger to you all, maybe you should." 

"You won't get the answers you want from me." 

"I only want one answer." 

"And you think I'll just give it to you?" Nasedo said, amused by the boy's presumption. 

Michael met his gaze without blinking. "I think you'll listen to the question and then decide." 

"I will not help you destroy Max's chance to save our planet." 

For the first time a hint of emotion appeared in Michael's tone. It was rapidly quashed. "I don't give a damn about the planet. You can do whatever you want with it. Just answer the question." 

For once Nasedo seemed startled. "Well, isn't this interesting. This one answer has you so wrought up that you don't care about your own planet or the millions of lives on it?" Lowering his outstretched hand, he looked speculatively at the boy in front of him. "Just how important is the answer? What will you pay for it?" 

Michael hesitated, then said hoarsely, "What do you want?" 

"I want you out of the picture. I don't want you interfering with Max, Isabel or Tess. Forget about your powers and what you are. Live like one of the humans you seem so fond of." 

For one moment, Michael actually considered it. His whole being shouted out for his sister, for family. He had to know. 

But no. He couldn't give up Isabel or Max. They wouldn't give up on him. "I can't," he said quietly. 

The other alien's voice was sharp. "You mean you won't." 

Michael met his eyes squarely. "All right, I won't. I won't run out on Max and Isabel. They've been there for me. I won't do less for them." 

"Even if you put them in danger? What happens if you wind up locking part of yourself in your own mind again? What good will it do them to be worrying about you when their enemies approach?" 

Michael stared at him, startled. "How did you--" 

"Oh yes, Max told me all about your little bout with insanity. Did you think he wouldn't? So let's think about what you have to offer your king. A confused, unwanted lunatic with powers so weak that the least advanced infant on our planet could step on you like an insignificant blade of grass." 

"If I'm so insignificant, then why are you so worried about my being around?" Michael countered, a hint of challenge in his voice. He refused to think about the fact that Max had blurted out his private business, stuff he didn't want _anyone_ to know about, let alone Nasedo. Even if in his gut it felt like a betrayal of some sort. Max had a good reason for it. He had to have. Right? 

Perhaps the smallest flicker of doubt crossed over Michael's face. Or perhaps Nasedo could read minds. Whatever the reason, he pounced on the opportunity. 

"Interesting that your own leader should keep his own secrets so well and yet feel completely at ease spreading yours about." 

Just what had Max told Nasedo, anyway? How could he go and blithely expose all of Michael's weaknesses, and to someone they couldn't trust? How-- 

Wait a minute. "You say I can't be trusted, that I'm not one of them any more. But here you are trying to get me furious with Max. Are you trying to _make_ me into the enemy?" 

"You're not as stupid as you look, are you? Then perhaps you're smart enough to take a deal." 

"What deal?" Michael asked, his expression guarded. 

"I have information you want. I might be persuaded to share it for a few minor considerations." 

This was a sudden change of tack. "Which are?" 

"You will not share the information with anyone, nor will you act upon it in any way. And you will stay away from the Royal Four--no, I suppose that should be the Royal Three now, shouldn't it?" 

"I already told you I won't do that!" Michael burst out. 

The shapeshifter continued placidly, "As I was saying, you'll stay away from them for a period of time, say six weeks or so." 

"Why? What's going to happen in the next six weeks?" Michael demanded. 

"How should I know? I'm a shapeshifter, not a fortune teller. Let's just say that I'm confident that within six weeks I can convince Max that you are a danger to him." 

No way. Michael's eyes narrowed. He didn't know what Nasedo had up his shifty sleeve, but he did know Max. And he was pretty damn sure that Max would show him the same support he always did. And to get the opportunity to learn the truth... 

"One week." 

Nasedo studied him, amused. "Well, you certainly continue to surprise me. Quite the little gambler, aren't you?" 

"One week," Michael repeated firmly. 

"Four," was Nasedo's counteroffer. 

"One." 

"You don't seem to realize how this works, Michael." 

"One week. Do we have a deal?" 

There was a pause, and then the shapeshifter said slyly, "I'll hear the question first, then I'll decide." 

"Agreed." 

"Then what is this all-fired important question?" 

His mask of indifference gone, Michael's voice rang out, urgent and demanding. "Is Tess my sister?" 

A moment of silence. When Nasedo spoke, it was slow and almost puzzled. "That's your question?" 

"Yeah. So?" 

Michael watched as the wheels turned in Nasedo's head. Finally, the shapeshifter nodded decisively and spoke. "Do you really want to know?" 

Michael nodded once--a sharp, curt nod. 

The strangest look crossed the other alien's face. If he'd been human, it might have been described as compassion, but as it was...One word was spoken. "No." 

For a moment, Michael didn't actually take in the answer. Then it hit him, and a rush of relief followed. He'd known it. Tess had lied, like always. He was like he'd always been--alone. 

And yet the idea of a sister, of someone connected to him by blood--it had seemed so right. He cursed himself mentally. He'd stupidly kept himself from finding out. If he'd just been a little more careful, asked the question differently, maybe he could have gotten more out of Nasedo... 

But he'd made the bargain. The answer had been that important to him; he wouldn't negate its importance now. Even if that answer made him feel more alone than ever. 

Somehow the shapeshifter seemed to read past his closed expression. Unprompted, he spoke again, not cruelly, not sympathetically; his voice was matter-of-fact. "You had a sister. You killed her."  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 13**_

Even on the small black-and-white video monitor, Maria could see Michael turn stark white. His face went slack, and he looked like he would have fallen if he had been able to move. 

"He's got my cell phone. Somebody give me theirs so I can get him out of there!" Maria cried out. Her eyes never left the screen. 

Something was placed in her hand. Liz's phone. Without looking away from Michael's image, Maria punched in her own number. 

"Come on, Michael. Pick up," she muttered, then growled and thrust the phone into Liz's hands when the call went unanswered. "Call him again. Keep calling until you get through," she ordered, starting off in a run towards the door. 

"Maria, wh--" 

"I'm going to go get him," was the all-too-obvious reply. 

"We can't let you go alone," Liz burst out. "Nasedo is dangerous. We should come too." 

"I don't care who comes, but I'm going _now_." 

"Maria--," Alex began. 

"No. I am not leaving him there," the blonde said firmly. 

"That's not what I meant. But the point is moot, I think. He's leaving." All eyes fixed on the screen where Nasedo watched Michael turn stiffly and move out of the camera's view.  
  
  
*****  


He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to _remember_ it. All he wanted was to go back to before, when this horrible gutwrenching knowledge wasn't his, when the air didn't sit leadenly in his chest. When he could breathe. 

Somehow he was able to turn and stumble from the house, the muscles in his legs managing to repeat their customary ambulatory actions and carry him even though his brain hadn't consciously given them that instruction. Hadn't been able to. 

He didn't notice the red convertible that pulled up in front of the house, and he didn't hear his name called. Small hands clutched at his sleeve, just as they had earlier that evening; like before, he pulled away jerkily. Tess said his name again, sounding oddly distressed this time, but he didn't listen. A stocky form planted itself in front of him, and he didn't see. 

"Guerin. Hey, Guerin. Michael!" shouted Kyle, but the alien didn't respond. He just brushed by the Sheriff's son as if he weren't there and stumbled down the sidewalk. 

He moved faster then, picking up speed in a futile attempt to outrun the knowledge that chased him, ready to pounce and gnaw ravenously at him if he gave it the chance. He wasn't aware of where he was or where he was heading--none of that mattered. He just had to go. To let the thud of his feet hitting the pavement and the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears drown out the sound of Nasedo's voice, saying it. Telling him _that_. 

But long before his strong body could give in, the shaky wall he tried to erect in his mind collapsed. His body followed suit, and he fell to his knees on the sidewalk, panting. 

He'd had a sister. 

And he'd killed her. 

His mind frantically tried to deny it, to protest that Nasedo couldn't be trusted and had almost certainly lied in an attempt to...disconcert him? Distract him? _Something._ But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't believe it. In his gut, in his bones, in his very soul--if he had such a thing--he knew the truth. Knew it with a certainty and conviction he'd never felt before. 

There on the dark and silent street, Michael Guerin tilted his head back and let out a wordless cry of grief and rage and horror. Heedless of who might be near, he buried his face in his hands and shook, unable to move, unable to cry. Shattered.  
  
  
*****  


The sound intruded again, tickling the edges of his consciousness over and over before his ears were able to convince his brain to process. He had no idea how long he'd huddled there on the unlit pavement, only that there was no one else around him. And somewhere nearby there was music. 

He pushed himself slowly to his feet, still trembling, before he realized just where the noise came from. It was the ringing of Maria's cell phone, tucked carefully into his jacket pocket. 

And then it hit him. He'd abandoned them all, hadn't even given them a thought when he'd run from Tess. Instead of following the plan and calling to warn them she was on the way, he'd left them on their own. And Nasedo--he'd already been there when Michael arrived at the house, stupidly intent on his damn question. If they'd been caught--god knows what happened to them-- 

The phone sang again, shrilly, and he fumbled in his pocket for it, scrambling to turn it on. 

"Michael! Michael, are you all right?" 

Maria's voice. He let out a deep breath he hadn't been aware of holding and tried to speak. Nothing came out, his throat as raw as if his earlier anguished cry had stolen his ability to make a sound. 

"Michael! Michael? You're scaring me. Are you there?" the frantic voice on the other end continued. 

Swallowing, he tried again. This time his voice came, but it sounded unfamiliar in his ears. "I'm...I'm here. You okay?" 

He relaxed just the slightest bit when she answered. "We're fine. We got the camera set up, and we're all at the warehouse. Where are you?" 

Where was he? He had no idea. Looking around dazedly, he took in his surroundings. A couple of dilapidated buildings in a seedy part of town. He wasn't that far from the trailer park where he'd lived with Hank--a long way from the others. Literally and metaphorically... 

Maria said his name again, and he managed, "I'm across town. I'm...I'm not gonna come to the warehouse, I...I got some things to do." 

She must have picked up on the strangeness in his voice, or she knew him better than he wanted her to. Maybe both. "What's wrong?" she said immediately. 

He grimaced. What was wrong? Try everything. But he said, steadily this time, "Nothing." 

"Michael! We got the camera hooked up; we saw you with Nasedo, but we couldn't hear anything. What happened? What--" 

Shit. He was completely unable to deal with this. Not that he could tell her about it anyway, with the agreement he'd made. "Look, I can't talk now. I'll...I gotta go," he said in desperation, and cut the connection. 

It took him a moment to realize he'd just hung up on her. She was gonna be pissed, that was for sure...but he wasn't certain he could have held himself together much longer, not against the obvious concern in her voice. He looked down at the small phone in his hand, and then deliberately turned it off. When she called again--and he knew she would--she wouldn't be able to get through at all. She'd be even more pissed, and he'd pay for it later. If he gave her the chance... 

She might even be angry enough to track him down to give him a piece of her mind in person. The obvious thing to do was to find somewhere to hide out until he could think things through. His apartment wasn't a good choice; she might drag Max or Isabel along with her, and he was powerless to keep either of them out. Maria's house was out of the question for a huge number of reasons, as was the Evanses' and even Liz's or Alex's. Hell, even the pod cave was too obvious. He had to face it; he had nowhere to go. 

Not until he figured out how to handle keeping away from Max and Isabel for an entire week. Tess wouldn't be a problem, but his two oldest friends definitely would. He supposed he could just blow town for a while. Get away from everyone and everything, escape from his whole fucked-up life, if only for a while. 

Except he couldn't miss out on school. He gave a bark of laughter: who'd have ever thought _he_ would be so adamant about attending West Roswell High? But he'd promised himself he would do whatever it took to win his bet with Maria, and he wasn't going to be pulling up any grades if he wasn't there. He'd show up if it killed him-- 

Goddammit! Why was he even thinking about a stupid bet right now? How could he bother with such trivialities with something so horrendous hovering over him? He needed quiet, a place to focus and deal with the blow he'd been struck that evening. He wasn't worried about a repeat of his own mental entrapment; the pain and self-doubt after killing Pierce was nothing compared to this. Sure, that had broken him, shutting him into his own mind in a mad attempt not to feel. But this--the knowledge that he'd killed his sister--was far too raw to allow his mind to slip away into isolation. 

Hesitating, he looked around him for some hint of where to go, what to do. He was very well aware that he wasn't exactly thinking clearly. Hell, he hadn't been since Tess dropped her little bomb on him and then Nasedo finished up the job... 

His fingers tightened on the cell phone, the case digging into the palm of his hand. His eyes dropped to it. He might not know where to go, but wherever he ended up, he had a stop to make first.  
  
  
*****  


There was a light on in the kitchen as he slowly approached the house, mentally gearing himself up. Deliberately putting on as casual an air as he could manage, he knocked on the door and waited. 

He could hear someone moving inside before a face peeked out of the window. A moment later, Amy DeLuca swung the door open. 

"Oh, Michael," she said in surprise. "I'm sorry, Maria's not here." 

"I know. The car's not in the drive," he answered, amazed he could sound so calm. "I just came to drop this off." He held out the cell phone, and Mrs. DeLuca took it, giving him an inquiring look. "She let me borrow it," he added, but left the explanation to that. 

"Oh. Okay." He turned to go, but she spoke again before he'd taken more than a step. "I'm sorry for kicking you out of the store so rudely the other day. I did appreciate your help." 

"No problem," he responded with a shrug. That was the least of his worries at the moment. 

She evidently wasn't satisfied with that, though, because she continued, "It just wasn't my best day. I...uh...had kind of a shock." 

With a nod, Michael solemnly assured her, "Yeah, I kinda got that." 

"I suppose it would have been hard to miss," she acknowledged. Her tone lightened. "I was just about to try making some tea. Do you want to come in and wait for Maria?" 

"No!" was his immediate reaction. She looked at him, startled, and his eyes dropped away from hers, focusing instead on her arm. She was still wearing the vibrantly-colored sling from the other day. He didn't know what possessed him, but suddenly he found himself saying, "I mean, no, I have some things I gotta do. Uh, homework and stuff. But I could make the tea for you first. If you want." 

She smiled warmly at him. "That would be very nice, Michael. It hasn't even been a week and already I'm dying to get this cast off. You don't realize how much you use two hands until you can't." Sitting at the kitchen table, she watched as he filled the kettle and set it on the stove. "The tea's in the cupboard next to the fridge," she instructed, then gave a sigh of contentment. "It's actually rather nice to be waited on." 

He didn't really know, but he nodded anyway, then stood there fiddling with his rings as he waited for the kettle to boil. Finally he broke the silence. "Mrs. DeLuca?" 

"Yes, Michael?" 

"Can I ask you a question?" 

She tilted her head appraisingly. "Sure. What's on your mind?" 

"The other day, at dinner...you mentioned a brother. Maria's never talked about him." 

With a nod, she said, "Teddy. Theodore. My younger brother." 

"What...what's it like? Having a brother?" He didn't look up at her, not wanting to see any sign of sympathy or compassion or pity. But when she answered, it was straightforward. 

"I suppose that depends on how old you are. When I was growing up, it was the worst thing in the world, or at least I thought so then. Teddy is three years younger than I am, and was a pretty crazy kid. The last thing a teenage girl wants around is a troublemaking brat of a little brother, getting into her stuff and embarrassing her in front of her friends." She laughed. "He was forever getting himself into trouble, and most of the time he took me right along with him. Now, though, I look back on those days and think that they were pretty great." 

He absorbed this silently, no expression on his face, and she ventured, "Why? Are you interested in finding out about your own family?" 

"What? No," he protested. "I just...I wondered, that's all." 

She wasn't taken in. "You might try Social Services. I don't know what they are legally allowed to tell you, but it might be a start." 

"They can't tell me what they don't know. And I don't care anyway," he bit out. To his relief, the kettle began to whistle, and he moved to finish making the tea. Moments later, he shrugged off her thanks and was out the door, glad that she hadn't pressed him any further. Not that he would have said anything more even if she had. She couldn't make him talk when he didn't want to--she wasn't Maria. And even Maria was only successful part of the time. 

He didn't know why he'd even asked about her brother in the first place. It had just popped into his head as he stood there wishing he'd never opened his big mouth and volunteered to help. He was getting soft. He should have just dropped the phone off and left, the way he'd planned. 

He wondered if having a sister was anything like Mrs. DeLuca had described. If his was a pest, like Mrs. DeLuca's brother. Maybe she'd tagged along wherever her big brother went, annoying the crap out of him. Or maybe she'd been the big sister, and he'd been the one to do the annoying. Izzy probably wouldn't put that past him. Maybe they'd been really close, instinctively understanding and supporting each other. Standing up for each other against all odds. 

Or maybe they'd hated each other. He swallowed. After all, he'd killed her. And how could he have done that to someone he'd loved?  
  
  
*****  


Leaning wearily over the sink, Michael splashed the cool water on his face, the liquid trickling down his wrists and soaking into the cotton knit of his long-sleeved T-shirt. He didn't bother reaching for a towel, but pulled up the hem of the shirt and roughly dried his face and hands. He wasn't sure what time it was, but the lateness of the hour--maybe that should be the earlyness--and the strain of the evening had combined to leave him feeling bone-weary. Useless. 

He'd finally given in and gone back to his apartment, once he was sure that all of his friends would be home rather than out looking for him. This was after several hours of aimless wandering through the dark town, trying not to be too conspicuous. Once a turning car had pinned him in the glow of its headlights, but he'd managed to keep moving at an even pace and the car had turned away and continued its journey, unconcerned with one insignificant alien. And now, here he was, back home. If he could call it that. 

The display on his second-hand answering machine was blinking, telling him that eleven messages awaited him. Maria had been busy. Although a couple could be from Max or Isabel. But he didn't play them back. He didn't want to hear them just then. 

Kicking off his worn boots, he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. He wasn't going to sleep, he just wanted to rest a little while before he decided what he was going to do. 

Or at least that was the plan. His tired mind and body didn't give him much choice, and he was quickly adrift in a sea of dreams. Strangely enough, they weren't the violent and bloody nightmares he might have expected, that he was used to. 

Instead, he dreamed of her. She was tall for a girl, almost his own height, with brown tousled hair and hazel eyes that sparkled merrily at him. She had his own defined cheekbones and full lips, and she was smiling at him. She looked like him, but everything about her was brighter, more joyful, as if some glow of inner happiness lit her up so radiantly that the light carried out further than the puny limitations of her body. 

She was his sister, and she was glad to see him. 

Even in the dream, Michael realized that it was stupid to picture her like this. She had lived and died light years away on another planet; she had never been human. And yet something in his soul took comfort from this human form his sleeping mind had given her. She was a part of him, and she looked it. 

She didn't speak, but held out an inviting hand. Hesitantly he reached out and took it, feeling the clasp of her long fingers against his own. And then he was pulling her close, reveling in the warmth of her arms as she held him tightly. Maybe even with love. With a sigh, he rested his forehead on her shoulder, closed his eyes, and just let himself--and her--exist. 

Of course, nothing wonderful ever seems to last as long as anyone would like it to, and this dream was no exception. He could feel a change in the air around him, not good or bad but different. He gripped his sister more tightly, refusing to let her go, but she seemed somehow less substantial in his arms. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. 

There in front of him was a familiar cream-colored wall. He blinked at it for a moment before remembering where it was: the dream room where he and Maria kept finding themselves. 

His sister began to pull back from him, and he shook his head and clutched at her, not wanting to lose her. Once again she put out her hand, even as she faded away into nothingness, leaving him standing there alone with empty arms and the feel of phantom fingertips on his cheek. 

"Michael." 

Or maybe not so alone.  
  
  
*****  


Maria watched with a catch in her throat as the remnant of Michael's dream disappeared and he shrank into himself. She couldn't keep the love and concern out of her voice as she said his name--not that she would have tried. But she was very aware of the things that one word, spoken softly, gave away. 

His back still to her, Michael froze for a moment, then squared his shoulders and turned slowly around. There was no expression on his carefully schooled face. "Hey," was all he said. 

"Hey?" she echoed. "You disappear on us, you shut off my cell phone, and you don't return any of my calls--and all you can say is 'hey'?" He shrugged, and she rolled her eyes. "Okay, so none of that really matters right now. You're okay, right?" 

He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Yeah." Her eyes narrowed. She didn't buy it. She had seen him earlier, on the video screen. Something had happened, something big. And from the way Michael stood there in front of her, defenses readily at hand, probably something bad. She had a strong urge to wrap her arms around him and hold him tightly, much like the girl in his fading dream had. 

The girl. She'd looked kind of familiar, in the quick glimpse Maria had gotten of her, but she couldn't place why. She'd been about Isabel's height, but it wasn't the blonde alien, and it certainly wasn't a dream-Maria. Exactly why was Michael dreaming about some other girl? And why was she feeling jealous of some dream image, anyway? It wasn't like Michael was going to cheat on her. It had taken her far too long to break down those walls of his; there was no way someone else could step in and grab his affections, just like that. Maybe it was just one of those guy dreams, with a cookie-cutter bimbo in it. At least it was pretty tame, and not one of those sex dreams Michael had hinted he'd had about Maria herself. And suddenly she wasn't sure if she was glad or disappointed that it wasn't. 

With a sudden realization that she was standing there caught up in her own thoughts and Michael was staring at her oddly, Maria stepped forward and took his hand. "Come on," she instructed, pulling him over to the blue brocade fainting couch. He followed with no hint of reluctance, but didn't speak as he sat there. Finally, she'd had enough. 

"Look, Spaceboy, something's up with you. Something happened tonight. We saw you with Nasedo, remember?" A hint of pain came into his eyes, and she reached up to smooth away the worry on his forehead. "'Sokay. You don't have to tell me right now. Unless you want to?" she added, giving him an opening. After all, he _had_ agreed that it was easier to talk in here than in the real world... 

He didn't take it, merely shaking his head and looking away from her. 

"Okay then, I'll tell you what happened to me. I told the others--well, Isabel and Alex already knew, because they were there, but I told Max and Liz. It was very weird. Kind of creeped me out, as a matter of fact," she mused, half to herself, then shook her head slightly as if to clear it. She studied him. "But first things first." 

Leaning forward, Maria touched her lips softly to his, trying to convey all her love and concern for him through a simple, gentle kiss. Smiling, she told him, "You looked like you needed that." His eyes focused on her mouth, and he leaned in, too. His mouth brushed lightly across hers once and then again, sending shivers down her spine. "Actually," she breathed, "I think I needed that, too." 

And then he was kissing her again, not so lightly. In fact not lightly at all--deeply and passionately, as if she could fill up some sort of desperate need. As if he could lose himself in her and forget everything else. His hands gripped her tightly as he plundered her soft mouth, clutching her. She kissed back, caught up in a rush of emotion, not sure if it was from him or her or from both of them. Her hands crept around his back and up under his shirt, soaking up the warmth of his skin. 

"Really, boy. Is this all you dream about?" 

In a split second, Maria was alone on the couch. Michael stood in front of her, looking wildly around the room for the source of the voice. He didn't seem to relax when he didn't find it. 

"Don't bother looking for me. I'm not there yet," the voice said maddeningly. "I'm just taking the opportunity to check up on you, and what do I find? Once again you're wasting your energy on some silly little imaginary girl, when there are much more important things to be dealing with." 

What? Silly little imaginary girl? She was very real, thank you very much, which was more than she could say for this weird androgynous voice that kept cropping up in the middle of Michael's dream, and interrupting at the most inconvenient moments. But Michael was talking now, eyes still sweeping the space around them for any hint of danger. 

"More important things? Like what?" he asked, not letting his tension show in his tone. 

"Power. Conquest. Playing the role you were born for, living your destiny." 

"Around here, we're not too fond of the word 'destiny'," Michael spat. "And we don't waste our energy paying attention to voices that aren't even real." 

Maria couldn't help but smile, just the tiniest bit. Chalk one up for Spaceboy. 

"Oh, I'm very real," the voice sing-songed. 

"Then who the hell are you?" 

"You may call me...Bob." 

Bob? Maria snickered, her fear lessening. "Real scary name there, Bob," she commented. "But at least it makes it clear that you're a guy. You are a guy, right? I mean, there's the whole name thing, plus guys have no imagination..." 

Michael turned to glare at her. "Shut up, Maria." 

Ooops. Sorry. But really, _Bob?_

"Okay, Bob. If you're so real, what do you want with me? Why do you keep invading my dreams?" Michael asked. 

The voice changed, became less affable. "I'm here to see that you get ready. That you stop wasting time with all these human pursuits. You know what you have to do. Prepare for it." 

"What the hell are you talking about? Prepare for what?" 

There was a silence, and then an amused laugh. "You don't remember, do you? They really scrambled your brain, didn't they, boy? Well, never you fear. We'll take care of that when I get there." 

"Remember _what?_ And you're not gonna do a damn thing to me." 

"Ahhh, I do believe I denote a slight bit of reluctance. Must be the human contamination--best get rid of that. Whether you like it or not, the game awaits." 

"I don't want any part of your 'game', whatever it is. Leave me the hell alone." 

"Oh, I'm afraid I can't do that. You have a very large part to play, whether you want to or not. You won't be able to help it--it's what you are. You will see. But perhaps you need a little something to...put you in the right mood, shall we say? I think we can handle that, even at this stage of the proceedings. Consider this a little warmup gift." The room went silent. 

Baffled, Maria looked around her. What was it talking about? What gift? She looked at Michael, who didn't seem any less confused than she was. His eyes met hers, and he shook his head slightly, poised for action. Then his gaze moved past her, and he tensed. 

"What?" she blurted. 

She started to turn to look, but he reached out and took hold of her shoulders. "Maria," he whispered urgently, "wake yourself up. Now." 

"Michael, what is it?" 

"Never mind. Just wake up. Do it now," he ordered. 

"But--" 

"For god's sake, Maria, do it!" he hissed, giving her a little shake. She took one glance at the look in his eyes, and closed hers, commanding herself to wake. 

She could still feel his hands gripping her shoulders as she opened her eyes again, but he wasn't there, only the familiar surroundings of her darkened room. Sitting up in bed, she scrambled for the phone. 

But no matter how many times she tried calling, Michael didn't pick up. All she got was the terse recording on his answering machine. Three words, no more, no less: "Leave a message."  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 14**_

By Monday morning, they were all noticeably worried. There had been no sign of Michael anywhere, even though they'd spent most of the day Sunday looking for him. He hadn't shown up for work at the Lift-Off gas station, which hadn't gone over very well with the owner. He hadn't answered any of the messages they'd left on his machine. And when Max and Isabel used their powers to unlock his apartment door, no one was there. 

The two aliens and three humans had met back at Michael's apartment late Sunday afternoon after hours of fruitless searching. It was then that Maria told them all about her repeated forays into Michael's dreams, the strange voice that called itself 'Bob', and how Michael had ordered her to wake herself up out of the previous night's dream. When she finished, there was silence. 

"You dreamwalked him? From across town?" Isabel finally asked in disbelief. 

"It wasn't the first time," Maria pointed out. "It happened before, when I spent the night here, remember?" 

"I know, but I thought that Michael had done it somehow. That it was possible because of your...proximity," the alien answered, pacing across the floor. "But he doesn't have the power to reach across town. It has to be you." 

"First you heal Isabel, and now you're dreamwalking?" Liz put in. "What's happening to you, 'Ria?" 

"Believe me, I don't know." 

"You haven't been hiding anything from us, have you?" asked Alex in a pensive tone. 

Maria tensed. "Like what?" 

"Like a little green somewhere in your family tree?" he responded with a smile. 

Looking nervously around the room, Maria said, "Well, I never wanted to mention it before, what with all the FBI stuff going on, but my great-grandmother on my father's side? She was..." Her voice lowered to a hushed whisper. "She was Irish." She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Alex, I've given in to Czechoslovakian peer pressure and crossed over to the dark green side. Come on, I am not an alien, okay? Not unless you can become one just by hanging out with them. In which case you and Lizzie better look out too." She sighed. "Look, I don't know why these things are happening. But none of that matters right now anyway. I'm worried about Michael." 

And now, twelve hours later, the worry still clouded all their faces. They gathered in the West Roswell High parking lot, not ready to go in and face school when their friend was nowhere to be found. None of them looked like they'd gotten much sleep. 

"I didn't have any luck dreamwalking," Isabel reported glumly. "Either Michael didn't go to sleep last night, or he's blocking me somehow." 

"Does he even know how to do that?" asked Liz. 

"I don't think so," the blonde alien responded. "God, what are we going to do, Max?" 

"I don't know. He has to be in some sort of trouble," her brother said soberly. "He might get an urge to take off somewhere, but he wouldn't just go without telling us." He put a comforting hand on Isabel's shoulder. "I checked in with Sheriff Valenti, and he's going to keep an eye out. See what he can come up with. Other than that, all we can do is keep doing what we've been doing. We'll fan out across town again after school, and if we haven't found him before tonight, Isabel will try to dreamwalk him again. We'll find him, I promise." 

Maria bit her lip and stared down at the asphalt. 

Liz spoke up, a determined look on her face. "I think you need to talk to Nasedo again, Max. Something that happened at his house obviously upset Michael; maybe it's a clue to where he's gone." 

"Okay, I'll try that too. But we--" He cut off as someone approached, then relaxed. Kyle Valenti. 

"Any of you seen Guerin?" the jock asked, not bothering with any sort of greeting. Glances flew between the group; finally, Liz spoke. 

"No, we haven't seen him this morning, Kyle. Why? Do you need something?" 

Kyle hesitated before answering. "Not really. Look, when you see him, tell him I want to talk to him, all right?" 

"About what?" Max demanded, hoping this might be a clue to Michael's disappearance and too worried about his friend to care how he sounded. 

"About none of your freaking business," Kyle answered back. "The whole universe doesn't revolve around you, Evans." With that parting shot, he turned on his heel and started across the parking lot towards the building. 

"I didn't..." Max began, but Kyle didn't hear. "...mean that," he finished quietly. 

Liz gave him a sympathetic glance. "We know you didn't, Max." He nodded gratefully. 

The five of them stood there in uncomfortable silence, each trying to come up with a sure-fire plan of action, not willing to head to class without one. Suddenly Maria's head shot up. "He's here," she said, a curious mixture of relief and dread in her voice. 

Alex was the first to actually see Michael sauntering down the sidewalk with his hands in his jacket pockets. A moment later the alien caught sight of the small group. For one fraction of a second it looked like he froze mid-stride; then he turned deliberately away and began across the grass, angling towards the school. 

"Michael!" called Max. He'd been loud enough that Michael had to have heard, but this time he didn't hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He just kept moving steadily towards the door. 

Calling his name again, Max took off towards his best friend and cut him off before he could reach the doors. The others weren't far behind. "Michael," Max said for the third time. "Didn't you hear me call you?" Michael still didn't answer, and Max grabbed his jacket sleeve to stop him from going any further. Slowly, Michael turned around to face him. 

"Yeah. I heard you," said Michael. One sardonic eyebrow rose, as if to ask 'So?' 

"Well...why didn't you stop, then?" asked a rather nonplused Max. He let go of Michael's arm and took a small step backwards. Michael just tilted his head upwards and studied the sky. He looked rather bored. 

Maria reflexively followed his eyes upwards, but she didn't see anything unusual. Just the clear sky and the sunlight. She lowered her gaze to the spiky-haired alien. "Michael, where have you been?" she demanded somewhat indignantly. "Are you all right?" 

"Yeah. Of course I'm all right," Michael said with a shrug. 

"Well, then, where the hell have you been?" she demanded again. 

"Around," was his maddening reply. 

She persisted. "Where?" 

Annoyance crossed his face. "Look, just because we're dating doesn't mean I have to account to you for everything I do. You've got your own life--stop trying to control mine." 

She went very still. "Michael?" she said in a small voice. 

Max took a conciliatory step towards his second. "She didn't--" 

"Back off, Maxwell." 

Max didn't come any closer, but didn't step back either. "Michael, she was just worried about you. We all were," he said firmly. "We didn't know where you were, and--" 

Michael cut in, his voice harsh. "Fuck where I was." His eyes gave away his quickly growing agitation. 

"Michael, how about you calm down so we can talk about this?" Max said, trying to keep his tone reasonable. 

Wheeling on the other alien, Michael took a threatening step towards him. "How about you stop telling me what to do, and I'll refrain from bashing your face in?" he shot back angrily. Alex's eyes widened as the alien clenched his hands into fists. 

"This isn't like you, Michael," Max snapped, his own temper rising. "What's going on?" 

"Yeah, you'd sure like to know, wouldn't you? Why, you running out of stuff to tell people about me?" 

Max was taken aback, but knew what Michael referred to. "Michael, I--" 

Once again, he was cut off. "I _trusted_ you, Max. You were like my brother. And you had to go and blab everything to Nasedo, didn't you? Who else you been talking to, huh?" His voice was harsh, his face cold. 

Isabel put out a hand, partially in denial, partially to calm him. "He did it to help you, Michael. And he didn't mean--" 

"Well stop fucking helping me! I don't want your help any more, either of you!" Michael shouted. Both Max and Isabel began to protest, but Michael didn't let them get far. His volume lessened, but not his rage. He was deadly serious. "I mean it, Max. We're through. Stay out of my life." He turned to go and came face to face with Alex, who'd been watching in some shock. His tone turned nasty. "What's the matter, Whitman?" he baited the gangly teen. "No stupid-ass jokes to share with the class?" 

Alex clenched his jaw, but didn't respond. "Didn't think so," Michael said with a sarcastic smirk as he pushed past the other boy towards the doorway. Now there was only one person between him and his destination. 

Maria. 

She met his eyes squarely. "Michael, don't." 

"Don't what?" he asked. 

"Don't do this." 

"Don't do this. Don't do this," he mocked. "Look, Princess, if you're going to whine, do it on your own time. I've got better things to do." He ran his eyes over her condescendingly. "And better people." 

She stared at him for a moment, completely still. Then, putting all her strength into it, she gave him a strong, deliberate slap. He didn't even try to avoid it and its force rocked him back on his feet. Then he stood there, the furious red mark of her hand imprinted on his cheek. 

"Well, I guess that about winds that up," he said, no hint of emotion in his voice. "Nice knowing you, DeLuca." Hands clenched, she watched as he strode down the sidewalk and disappeared into the school. 

They were silent. 

Isabel was the first to break the painful stillness. "What was that? _Who_ was that?" She turned to Maria in some desperation. "Maybe that wasn't him. Maybe it's like before--part of him is sealed off in his own mind, and that wasn't really him. Maria?" she added, her tone pleading. 

The other girl was staring at the palm of her right hand. It still stung from the open-handed blow she'd struck Michael. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath; then she seemed to set her shoulders, a clear look of resolve coming into her face. "No," she told the taller girl. "I could feel him. That was one-hundred-percent asshole Michael." Her eyes dropped once more to her hand. 

"I've...I've seen him angry before. Upset. But never...never that hateful," Max said quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "What could have happened to him, to make him change like that?" 

For the first time since they'd seen Michael, Liz spoke. "I don't think that's the right question, Max." 

The other four looked at her. "What is, then?" Alex asked, no hint of a smile on his usually cheerful face. 

"I don't think he's changed at all," Liz answered slowly. She ignored the disbelieving looks she got and turned towards Max, her eyes worried. "So maybe you should be asking why he deliberately picked a fight with you."  
  
  
*****  


Plopping down in his seat, Michael stared sullenly at the top of his desk, his mind clouded by the ugly scene that had just played out. 

Shit. Shit. It had been far worse than he'd dreaded. He had known Max wouldn't let him get away with just ignoring them, but he'd hoped...and sure enough, his best friend hadn't let him down. Even if that was what he wanted. 

Best friend. Maybe Max wasn't even that any more. What if he had done his job all too well? A sense of panic rose up in him, and he forced himself to take a few deep breaths. 

He could hardly believe himself. He'd threatened to punch Max. He, who'd always sworn he wouldn't be like Hank, nearly took on his best friend. Former best friend. And he might as well have punched Alex, not just attacked him verbally. Michael knew from long experience that could be worse than the physical stuff. The look on Isabel's face as he'd reached down into a dark pit of nastiness he hadn't known was within him and spewed it over all of them... 

And Maria...no, he wasn't going to think about Maria. He'd just concentrate on getting through the week. Only six more days, to pay for the information Nasedo had given him. Information that would weigh on him for a lot longer than six measly days...He couldn't think about that either. He had to focus. He could do it. He just had to stay away from the five of them. 

His mind, uncontrolled, ran through a mental list, complete with pictures projected in his mind's eye. First Maria, who looked stricken to the core. He'd hurt her again. Really badly. Then Isabel, shock and horror on her face. Max, so loyal and then so angry. Alex, who'd never done anything but support him, help him, with his good humor thrown brutally back in his face. Liz, who-- 

Wait. He hadn't done anything to Liz. He hadn't said a word to her. For a moment a feeling of relief welled up inside of him. Someone who wouldn't hate him. And he was surprised at just how important that knowledge was. One out of five... 

He shook his head. No, she cared about Max. She'd hate him for Max's sake, and Maria's sake, and he probably deserved it. He deserved everything he was feeling right now, for being stupid enough to bargain with Nasedo in the first place. Closing himself off from them all was his punishment. He deserved the sick feeling inside, the self-loathing, the feeling he'd betrayed both his friends and himself. And they didn't deserve any of it. Not to be subjected to his bullshit. 

The bell rang, and he glanced carefully out the corner of his eye, then turned his head to look. Maria wasn't in her seat. It wasn't like her to cut class. He swallowed. She must be even more upset than he'd thought. 

At the front of the classroom, Mrs. Gideon was beginning a lecture on something or other--Michael didn't know and didn't give a damn what. His job was just to sit there and endure. He gritted his teeth. Six more days. He had to wait six more days, and hope against hope that he hadn't ruined everything, hadn't smashed everything he cared about beyond repair. He cursed his own clumsiness and sat back gloomily to ignore the lecture. 

They were not ten minutes into class when the door swung open. Michael looked up rather uninterestedly, but couldn't see who was there from the angle of his desk. Mrs. Gideon paused in the middle of whatever boring poem they were supposed to be discussing and stepped over to the doorway, where she had a muted conversation with whoever was out there. Michael didn't particularly care, and looked down to study the top of his desk once more. 

"Michael." He looked back up as Mrs. Gideon said his name, and realized that everyone in the classroom was staring at him. And standing next to the English teacher was the Vice Principal. "Michael, please gather your things and go with Mr. Sutter," Mrs. Gideon said quietly. 

Gather his things? He'd been so shaken by his own actions earlier that he hadn't thought to bring any things with him, not even a notebook and pencil. Pushing himself up from his desk, he snagged the jacket from the back of his chair and followed the Vice Principal into the hallway. 

Shit. What had he done now?  
  
  
*****  


Warily Maria peered up and down the hallway before heading towards her locker to grab her lunch. She was very relieved not to feel Michael anywhere nearby; she didn't think she could deal with having him around. The scene that morning had been so bad that she hadn't been able to bring herself to attend English. Instead, she'd skipped class and hid out in the bathroom. She grimaced. Hiding out in the bathroom--such a Michael thing to do. Even in getting away from him, she couldn't get away from him. 

And now all she wanted to do was to join her friends and have a nice, friendly lunch. One where she could relax a bit, maybe laugh at a few of Alex's jokes, and completely ignore the fact that Michael Guerin existed. Or at least try to. 

She fervently hoped that he would decide not to show up in History class. That good sense or fairness or a sense of self-preservation--anything--would keep him away. Because if he showed up, she didn't think she could stand it. She'd bowed out of English; now it was his turn. 

At her locker, she quickly dialed the combination and reached inside for the brown paper bag that held her lunch. Not that she was in the least bit hungry. This morning had pretty much killed off her appetite. But she had better eat something. With a sigh, she closed her locker and turned to go meet Liz and the others at the cafeteria. 

She didn't even get one step away from the bank of lockers because there was someone blocking her path. Raising her eyebrows, Maria studied the girl in front of her before giving a noncommittal, "Tess." 

"Hello, Maria." 

There was an uncomfortable pause before Maria snapped, "So, did you want something, or are you just seeing if you can make my day even worse than it already is?" 

Tess looked a bit startled. Maria didn't know why; they weren't friends or anything. "Look, Tess, say what you have to say or get out of the way. I've had enough from your kind to last me a while, okay?" 

"I'm not here to ruin your day. I just wondered how Michael was?" Tess said. 

Maria laughed a bit bitterly. "How should I know?" 

Tess frowned. "You and he...well, you're together, aren't you?" 

"Tess, you really need to keep up with the gossip train. As of this morning, we are nowhere near together." 

"Oh." The frown didn't leave the alien's face. "I'm sorry." 

Yeah, sure. And Maria had discovered the cure for cancer while cruising on her forty-foot yacht. "Why? I thought you'd be ecstatic. No more worthless human standing between Michael and his destiny. One down, Max and Isabel to go." 

"No, I just...I just want him to be happy. I thought you made him that way." Tess fingered the notebook she was carrying uncomfortably. "Look, I'm sorry for bothering you. I just thought you'd know how he was doing. I was worried about him, with what happened this morning." 

God, did the whole school know what had happened? Of course the blow-up did happen in the parking lot, right in front of everyone. It wouldn't be that unheard of for the news to spread through the West Roswell High gossip mill like a grass fire. But wait a minute. Tess didn't know about Michael breaking up with her, so..." Wait. What do you mean, 'with what happened this morning'? What happened?" 

The tiny blonde looked at her, a quizzical expression on her face. "Didn't you hear about Michael? It's all over school." 

"What about him?" Maria said guardedly. 

"Maybe you're the one who needs to keep up with the fresh gossip. Michael got expelled. For cheating."  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 15**_

"No way." Maria shook her head emphatically. "Uh-uh. Not possible." 

"It's all over school," Tess said, her face grave. "Terri Shaw works as a student aide in the office first period and saw him get escorted into the principal's office. And afterward, Mr. Sutter took him to clear out his locker." 

Maria shook her head even more furiously. "I don't care what anyone says they saw. Michael would not cheat. He doesn't need to." She made a quick decision. "Come with me," she said, grabbing the other girl's wrist and steaming down the hallway, a wide-eyed Tess scrambling to keep up with her. 

It didn't take them long to reach the cafeteria. Unceremoniously Maria pushed her way through a crowd that had gathered by the entrance and scanned the room until she saw the others. With Tess still in tow, she crossed and sat at the table next to Max. 

One look at them told her the rumors had already reached them. "It isn't true," she said firmly. 

Still standing, Tess hesitated, and Maria pointed a forceful finger at the empty chair next to Alex. "Sit." The fact that Max moved slightly closer to Liz did not escape Maria's attention, although she didn't think he realized he'd done it. 

"His locker is empty. He's gone," Max told her, ignoring the other alien as she took a seat. 

"I'm not saying they didn't expel him," Maria explained. "But if they did, they were wrong. Michael wouldn't cheat." 

"I don't understand why they thought he would," complained Isabel. "He doesn't care at all about his grades. He never has." 

Maria let out a deep breath. "That's not exactly true." 

"What do you mean?" asked Liz. 

"This isn't the first time the VP has called him in. Last week, he got reamed about his poor attendance--and his grades." 

The Evans siblings looked at each other in surprise. Maria frowned. Evidently Michael hadn't mentioned anything to them. Then again, this was Michael they were talking about.... 

"I don't buy it," Isabel said. "If he cared enough to do something about his grades, he certainly wouldn't have to cheat to pull them up. If he'd just actually _do_ the reading, he'd be fine." 

Seeing the puzzled expressions Liz and Alex wore, Maria put in, "Michael has a photographic memory. He reads something once and he can remember it." 

Liz looked at the others. "Is this a Czechoslovakian thing? Do you have it, Max? Isabel?" The two demurred, and she turned to the third alien, who'd been sitting there unobtrusively. "What about you, Tess?" 

Seeming surprised to be included, especially by Liz, Tess shook her head. "I only wish I did." 

"So only Michael has it," Liz mused. Suddenly she sat straight up, scandalized. "Michael has perfect visual recall, and he's spent the last ten years barely passing his classes? What was he thinking?" 

Alex laughed. "Back down, Vicki Valedictorian. You can be appalled later." He looked across the table at Max. "What I don't get is, why would they think he was cheating? You don't cheat to get bad grades, you cheat to improve them. And if he hasn't ever cared about them before, why would he change his mind now?" 

"Because I bet him he couldn't pull them up," Maria said, her cheeks burning. 

"You what?" asked Alex. 

"I bet him he couldn't pull them up," Maria repeated. 

"Why?" Tess ventured somewhat hesitantly. "Didn't you think he could do it?" 

"Of course I thought he could do it! I thought he could do it _before_ I knew he was Mr. Memorex," Maria retorted, stung. She took in Tess's confusion, and softened a little. "I knew he didn't care about it, that's all. So I uh...I gave him a reason to." She hoped they'd leave it at that. 

But of course Alex didn't let it rest. He grinned wickedly at her. "And just what was the reason?" 

Feeling her cheeks flush again, Maria looked down at the table and muttered, "I don't know." 

He heard her perfectly well, but didn't let her off the hook. "What was that?" 

"I don't know, all right? I said he couldn't do it; he said he could. The winner gets to determine the penalty." 

Liz's lips twitched as Alex burst into gales of laughter and chortled, "Man, are you in trouble, DeLuca!" 

"Well, I had to do _something_, didn't I? He obviously doesn't care enough about himself to try to do well, and he really should. I know someday he's going to...leave Roswell...but who knows when that will be? And if it's not for a while, maybe he'll want more than a part-time job at the Lift-Off gas station, you know? He could have a future here, even if it's temporary. So I made the bet." 

Alex just continued to laugh at the situation she'd gotten herself into. Knowing Alex, Maria could bet that his fertile mind was already coming up with a number of suitable penalties; if she were lucky, he wouldn't recommend any to Michael. 

"God knows what he'll make you do," put in an equally amused if less boisterous Isabel. 

Maria's spirits fell. "Considering he doesn't seem to want to be anywhere near me just now, I don't think I have to worry about that any more. Not that it even matters if he's been kicked out of school." A horrified thought crossed her mind. "And if he has, it's all my fault. If I hadn't made the bet, he would be pulling in his usual D's and F's. No one would ever have assumed he'd cheated." She could feel herself growing hysterical. "And, oh my god! This morning I wished he wouldn't be in History class, and now he won't be! What if I made it happen? What if this is a new power, like healing and dreamwalking?" 

"I'm sure that's not the case," Liz said firmly. "Hand me your bag, 'Ria; I'll get your cedar oil." 

"It won't do any good. I used it up in the girl's bathroom during first period," Maria moaned. 

Max put an arm around her shoulders. "Calm down, Maria. This isn't your fault, I promise you. We'll get this taken care of." 

"How? What, we're gonna just walk up to Principal Bruner and say, 'Hey, you know our friend Michael, the one with the really bad academic reputation? Well, we know he didn't cheat on anything, so could you please de-expel him?' None of the teachers even like him. Why would they take our word for it?" 

"Because it's the truth. We'll figure out something," he promised. "First we'll try to find out exactly what happened." 

"Why don't you just ask Michael?" asked Tess logically. 

Maria burst out with an impassioned, "No!" and they all stared at her. "I...I think we need to give him some space, you know? He was already angry enough this morning; I don't want to make things worse," she explained. "Can't we approach it from another angle?" 

"We could snoop around a little," Isabel suggested. "If they really did expel him, there's got to be a written record of it. Michael would just break into the files, so why can't we?" 

"We'll try that, then," Max decided. "And we should still work on finding out more about--" He glanced at Tess, then continued smoothly, "--that other issue." Understanding glances were exchanged by the five friends. 

Tess looked around at them, her eyes lingering for just a moment on Max. "I guess I'll just head out then," she said slowly as she pushed her chair back and stood. Hesitating, she finally offered, "Let me know if I can do anything," and started away from the table. 

"Hey, Tess?" 

The alien turned back to Maria. "Yes?" 

"Thanks for telling me about it." 

"Sure." And Maria watched as Tess melted her way through the crowded cafeteria and disappeared into the hallway.  
  
  
*****  


For the thirteenth straight hour, Michael continued to stare up at his ceiling without really seeing it. Sprawled on his couch, he hadn't moved from this spot for what seemed like days, even though it was only one. Why should he get up? He had nothing to do and nowhere to go. He supposed he could go to the Lift-Off and tell Mr. Santini he was now available to work daytime hours, too. Somehow the thought really depressed him. 

At least the others weren't around to go through this shit with him, since he'd done such a stupendous job cutting himself out of their lives yesterday morning. For once, they could go about their daily routine without worrying about the latest Michael Guerin crap. Huh. When was the last time the group had focused itself on fixing a Max problem, or an Isabel problem? It had been a while. And what about Liz and Alex? They had to have stuff they were going through, unrelated to the ever-present alien problems. When did the group ever worry about them? No, they were always too busy dealing with whatever new Michael-related problem reared its ugly head. Because he kept bringing it on. God, he was such a screw-up. 

Well, he wasn't going to let it happen any more. He'd get through the rest of the week--just five more days--and then he would change. He would be there for his friends, instead of always the other way around. He would ask how Liz's day went, and catch up on the latest rehearsal of the Whits. Maybe he and Max could play a little one-on-one or something. Hell, he'd even go shopping with Izzy if she wanted. And he'd try to make everything up to Maria. Be the perfect, supportive boyfriend she deserved. He'd be a model friend. If they'd let him. 

He tried to picture it in his mind, and then gave up with a snort. It wasn't gonna happen. Because he wasn't capable of it, of any of it. He'd try; maybe he'd even succeed for a little while. But sooner or later something would happen, and he'd revert back to the fucked-up loser that he really was. To the alien, the killer. He wouldn't be able to escape it. 

Rolling over, he buried his face in his pillow and tried not to think. Five days; he just had to get through five more days. Maybe he'd just stay right there on the couch until then.... 

When the knock came, he didn't bother moving. Somebody had the wrong apartment. No one he knew was going to come over, not any more. He'd just ignore them and they would go away. 

A moment later, he sat bolt upright in shock at the voice that called out imperiously from the hall. "Michael. I know you're in there, so open the door." Mrs. DeLuca? Oh god. Something had happened to Maria. 

He scrambled to his feet, his blanket falling into a disordered heap on the floor. Rushing for the door, he tripped once and stubbed his toes twice, but finally made it. He had to fumble for the lock a second time before he was able to swing the door open. 

"Mrs. DeLuca?" She didn't look upset. Maybe something _hadn't_ happened to Maria. But then why was she here? 

"Hello, Michael." 

The woman stepped past him into the apartment and stopped in obvious astonishment. Following the path her eyes took, Michael flushed. The small room looked like a disaster site, a result of his complete loss of temper the previous day. He'd taken out all his anger and frustration on his meager belongings, and it showed. Things were strewn about on the floor where he'd thrown them in his rage. His shabby chest-of-drawers was tilted onto its front, drawers askew, and the posters that had once decorated the walls were torn down and crumpled. After his foray into destruction, he'd grabbed his blanket and pillow and crashed on the couch, not moving, although he hadn't slept in case Isabel tried to dreamwalk him. And no housekeeping elves had come out overnight, so this morning it all looked...well, a little rough, to say the least. 

"I uh...I was a little angry yesterday," he said, running a nervous hand through his hair. He followed her eyes as they took in his bruised knuckles, now crusted with dried blood, and went unerringly to the wall across from him. The wall where the plaster was cracked from his repeated blows. He raised his chin, daring her to comment. 

But all she said was "Yes, I can see that." 

He still didn't know why she was here. If something had happened to Maria, surely she would already have said something...One way to find out. "What do you want, Mrs. DeLuca?" he demanded ungraciously. 

"Maria told me you were expelled. For cheating." 

Great. He'd known Maria would find out, but hearing it still hurt. With some effort, he managed a careless shrug. "Yeah." 

She fixed a gimlet eye on him. "Did you do it?" 

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the open door. "Doesn't matter." 

"I didn't ask if it mattered. I asked if you did it." 

Why the hell did she care? She wouldn't believe him, anyway. And he didn't blame her--he wouldn't believe him either. But something within him made him answer honestly. Looking away from her, he let out a curt, "No." 

"Okay then." 

What? He swung back around towards her, confused. She didn't actually believe him, did she? Why? But she was looking down at the watch she wore on her left wrist. 

"It's just after 8:30," she said. "I'll give you fifteen minutes to get cleaned up and dressed. Oh, and you might want to put some witch hazel on that hand of yours," she added with a smile. 

He just stood there, not getting it. What was she talking about? 

His inaction evidently started to annoy her. "I'm serious, young man. If you're not out at the car, ready to go, in--" She checked her watch again. "--fourteen and a half minutes, then you'll go as you are. And I really think you'd prefer it if you had some pants on." 

For the first time he looked down and realized he was wearing the T-shirt and boxers he'd--well, not slept in, because he hadn't slept. Rested in? Whatever. A flood of crimson colored his cheeks, but he ignored it, clenching his jaw. He hadn't asked her to come over and barge in on him. He was doing just fine, wallowing in his own misery. 

She gave a little laugh. "Get a move on, Michael. Time's a-wasting." With a pat on his shoulder, she moved into the hallway. 

He didn't understand what was going on. Why was she bothering with him? He sucked in a breath as he realized that she didn't know. "Mrs. DeLuca?" 

"Yes, Michael?" 

"Maria and I...we kinda broke up." There. Now he'd see the avenging mother, the one who'd kill him for hurting her daughter again. 

"Yes, she told me that." She smiled and pushed him gently away from the door so she could swing it closed behind her. "Go on, Michael. You've got thirteen minutes."  
  
  
*****  


He made it in twelve. Rushing through a quick shower, he roughly towel-dried his hair before rescuing wrinkled but clean clothes from his overturned chest-of-drawers. After picking his way through the debris that littered his floor, he sat on his couch and laced up his boots, all the while wondering exactly why he was following Mrs. DeLuca's orders. One small woman with a broken arm certainly couldn't _make_ him do anything. 

But what the hell. She probably needed help in her shop or something, and he was available. He had nothing better to do, and maybe it would help him take his mind off things for a while. He snagged his jacket from underneath an upturned library book and a couple of CDs, grabbed his keys from the counter, and slammed the door shut behind him. 

The Jetta was pulled up in the no-parking zone in front of his apartment building. He figured Mrs. DeLuca must still be seeing Sheriff Valenti if she wasn't worried about a ticket. She was leaning casually against the driver's door as if she had all the time in the world; as she saw him approach, she nodded and told him, "Hop in." Wordlessly, he did so, and watched as she reached awkwardly around the steering wheel to start the car with her left hand. Good thing it was an automatic. 

Neither of them spoke as she pulled out into the street. Michael stared out the window, a little bemused by his own acceptance of the situation. If anyone had told him a week ago that he would be almost glad to be cooped up in a car with Mrs. DeLuca, he would have laughed his ass off. But in reality, for an adult--especially Maria's mother--she wasn't all that bad. Confusing, yes--but not so bad. 

His slowly escalating opinion of her took a rapid nosedive as he realized just where they were heading. "Ah geez, no, Mrs. DeLuca," he protested, hands clenched. 

"Ah geez, _yes_, Michael. Where did you think we were going?" she responded, pulling into the parking lot. 

"I don't know. I thought you needed help at the store. Moving boxes or something," he muttered. 

She pulled into a space marked 'Visitor' and reached around to shut off the car. Looking him straight in the eye, she said firmly, "The store can wait. This is more important." 

His set his jaw. "I'm not going in there." 

"You most certainly are," she shot back. 

A sarcastic huff of air escaped him. "You can't exactly force me. You're not my mother." 

"No, I'm not," she agreed. She looked at him very seriously. "But if your mother were here, she would do this. Since she is not, you will do me the courtesy of allowing me to help you." 

Awash in a welter of emotion--despair, pain, doubt...and maybe just the tiniest bit of hope--Michael met her eyes. "It's not gonna do any good," he told her softly. 

"We'll see." Opening the door, she swung her feet out, then turned back to him. "Get out of the car, Michael," she ordered firmly but not unkindly, before leading the way through the front doors of West Roswell High School.  
  
  
*****  


All activity in the administrative office stopped as Amy DeLuca burst through the glass doors. Behind her, Michael skulked along, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else but where he was. 

"Amy DeLuca to see Principal Bruner," she announced to the room at large. 

Ms. Ortega, the school secretary, stood hastily and crossed to the counter. "She's in a meeting at the moment. Perhaps if you'd like to make an appointment?" she suggested. 

"Oh, I think she'll want to see me," Amy shot back. "Tell you what--let's ask her, shall we?" She headed over to the principal's office door and rapped smartly on it, ignoring Ms. Ortega's protests. 

A moment later the door swung open and Katherine Bruner looked out. "Yes?" 

"I'm Amy DeLuca. We need to talk." 

The principal studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Of course." Turning to the man sitting inside the small room, she continued, "I'm sorry, Bill. Can we continue this later?" 

With a curious look at Amy, he exited the office. 

"Now," Mrs. Bruner said expectantly, "what can I do for you? Is this about your daughter--Maria, isn't it?" 

"Yes, Maria is my daughter, but no, it's not about her." Without turning her head, Amy said sharply, "Michael? Inside." 

Michael was probably reluctant to abandon the corner he'd placed himself in, as if he could blend in with the woodwork, but he crossed over to her without argument. Giving him a reassuring smile--which she suspected didn't exactly reassure him--Amy gently nudged him past her and into the office. The principal followed, shutting the door behind her. 

Amy got right to the point. "I believe you know Michael Guerin, the young man you wrongfully expelled yesterday?" 

Mrs. Bruner moved behind her desk and sat, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "Of course I know him. Hello, Michael." He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet. "I'm not certain I understand why you are here, Mrs. DeLuca. Usually we only discuss a student with their parent or guardian, and since you are neither...." 

"No, I'm not. But I'm standing in for them." 

"Nevertheless, perhaps it would be better if you would excuse us. Unless Michael would prefer you stay?" Mrs. Bruner added, turning toward him. 

"Yeah, she can stay, I guess," he mumbled ungraciously. "Coming here was her idea anyway." 

"Good. I'm staying then. Now about yesterday--" 

"It's very regrettable what happened yesterday, Mrs. DeLuca, but we cannot condone cheating. That, on top of his prior record, unfortunately led to the expulsion." 

"One problem. He didn't cheat," Amy said succinctly. 

"How do you know?" the principal asked, not unkindly. 

Amy's could hear the conviction in her own voice. "Because he told me so." 

"Why don't you both sit down," Mrs. Bruner suggested. Michael looked like he'd rather bolt, but a pointed look from Amy had his butt in a chair pretty quickly. Her hands folded neatly together, Mrs. Bruner looked at him. "If that's the case, Michael, why didn't you say so yesterday? Why wouldn't you speak up on your own behalf?" 

"He shouldn't have to," Amy said. "You are all supposed to be teaching him, not ganging up on him like some sort of academic lynch mob." 

The principal kept interested eyes trained on the sullen boy in front of her, until he finally muttered, "Didn't think you'd believe me." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. 

"What exactly is Michael supposed to have cheated on?" Amy demanded. 

"Last Friday's History exam." 

Amy nodded. "Right. Maria studied all week for it." Realization struck her. "For that matter, Michael studied for it too. I saw him reading the textbook." 

Mrs. Bruner smiled calmly. "I'm glad you took last week's meeting with Vice Principal Skinner to heart, Michael, but--" 

"What meeting?" Amy interrupted. 

In a few brief sentences, the principal explained. When she was finished, Amy was totally disgusted. "Oh, this just gets better and better. You tell a kid he needs to get his act together, and when he does, you punish him for it? What kind of a school are you people running?" 

The response was mild. "The report of cheating came directly from Mrs. Lyons, his teacher." 

"Well then, I suggest you get her butt in here so she can explain herself," Amy shouted, feeling fairly rabid. "Michael did not cheat on that exam. I'm sure he earned whatever grade he got." 

"I believe it was a perfect score," the principal put in gravely. 

Amy nodded, but all she said was, "The sooner you get Mrs. Lyons in here, the sooner we can fix this travesty." 

After a moment of consideration, Mrs. Bruner excused herself and left the office. Through the open door, Amy could hear her speaking with Ms. Ortega. 

"So, a perfect score, huh?" Amy said, turning to Michael. "That's really great. Maybe you should give Maria some study tips." 

"Uh...I don't think it'd help her," Michael answered. "I just have a...knack for remembering stuff, I guess. Kind of a photographic memory." 

Amy nodded. A photographic memory? No help for Maria there. Oh, well; it had been worth a try. 

Just then, Mrs. Bruner stepped back into the doorway. "It just so happens that Mrs. Lyons has twenty minutes left in her planning period. I've sent a message asking her to join us." 

"Good," Amy responded, watching Mrs. Bruner disappear into the outer office once more. She and Michael sat in silence for a few moments. He fiddled nervously with his rings. For a moment, it looked like he was about to say something, but he closed his mouth and looked away. 

"What?" she asked. 

He glanced sideways at her, finally muttering, "Nothing." 

After another few minutes, Mrs. Bruner reentered the room, a manila file folder in her hand. Mrs. Lyons was right behind her, and Michael visibly stiffened. Actually, the History teacher didn't look all that happy to be there, either. 

"I've told Mrs. Lyons about your concerns," Mrs. Bruner said after the two women sat. 

Mrs. Lyons pulled out her grade book. "I have taught World History for thirty-four years. In fact, I've given the same tests for thirty-four years. No one ever gets a perfect score." 

Amy stared in disbelief at the woman. "I'm not even going to comment on how pathetic that is. But perhaps you've never had a student like Michael before." 

"He skips out on class; he doesn't do the work when he is there. It's impossible for him to have gotten one hundred percent without cheating," Mrs. Lyons pontificated. 

Amy leaned forward. "What if he proves that he earned the grade?" 

"What?" 

"Go ahead. Ask him some questions. I'm sure he knows his stuff." 

"Then he's obviously memorized the test answers. It proves nothing," the teacher said. 

Amy glanced over at the object of their discussion. He looked miserable. "Michael, how much of the textbook have you read?" she asked, suddenly inspired. 

"All of it," he muttered. "Thought I should get it over with." 

"Then ask him something that wasn't on the test," she told the History teacher. 

Mrs. Lyons stared at her for a minute, then huffed, "This is ridiculous." 

Leaning back in her chair, Mrs. Bruner said, "I'd be very interested in seeing this, Doris. Ask him something." 

Wearing an unattractive put-upon expression, Mrs. Lyons fixed flinty eyes on Michael. "All right. Who led the Roundhead forces in overthrowing Charles I during the English Civil War?" 

"Oliver Cromwell," replied Michael, staring at the floor. He paused a moment, then added, "Born 1599, died 1658." The teacher looked surprised. 

"What was the political scene in turn-of-the-century China?" she asked. Amy was pretty sure that the class hadn't gotten to the turn of the century yet--unless Mrs. Lyons was speaking of a different century. 

But once again, Michael gave her the answer. "Boxer Rebellion. Chinese nationalists tried to drive foreigners out of the country." 

Amy watched in rapidly escalating glee as Mrs. Lyons began spouting out questions, faster and faster. Michael shot the answers back just as quickly, although he never looked up. Mrs. Lyons quickly dispensed with the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and moved on to more modern events; still Michael was able to respond. He reported that overwhelming speculation in Dutch tulip bulbs led to a seventeenth century market crash in England; that Mexico won its independence from Spain in 1821; that two thousand ANZAC soldiers were slaughtered at Gallipoli on April 25, 1915. By then Amy had stopped really listening to the questions, too caught up in the rhythm of the question-and-answer game. 

So it came as a sudden shock when that rhythm faltered. For the first time, Michael looked up from the floor. 

"Well, Michael?" the principal asked. Amy hadn't even heard the question. 

The boy's jaw tensed. "I don't know," he growled. "That's not in the textbook." 

"He's quite right," Mrs. Lyons said unexpectedly. "It isn't." She let out a deep breath. "Obviously I was in error," she continued, turning to Mrs. Bruner. "This boy had no need to cheat. I would recommend that his expulsion be overturned." 

"I am in complete agreement," the principal added. Amy couldn't help herself; she let out a cheer. Mrs. Bruner smiled. 

Mrs. Lyons stood and faced Michael. "When I am wrong, I admit it. Mr. Guerin, I apologize to you for being so quick to judge." 

He sank down further in his chair, obviously uncomfortable. "Whatever," he muttered. 

"You have shown a most impressive command of the material," she continued. "You should be quite proud. Well. If that's all for now, I had best be getting back to my classroom before the next period starts." She crossed stiffly to the door, then stopped and turned back to the boy. "You realize, of course, that now you have no excuse not to succeed in my class," she said calmly. "I expect results from you." With a nod to Amy and Mrs. Bruner, she headed back to her classroom. 

The principal pushed back her chair and stood. "I have to agree, that was very impressive, Michael. As was your score on the exam." 

Shrugging, he said, "It wasn't hard. All she ever wants is for you to parrot facts back at her. She doesn't make you think or anything." 

"If it wasn't hard, why the poor results up until now, Michael?" Mrs. Bruner asked, her voice kind. 

Another shrug. "History's not really my thing, I guess." 

"I see. Well, even so, I am glad to see that you're taking your schoolwork a little more seriously. I do have some paperwork to do before you can be reinstated, however, so why don't you take the rest of the day off and we'll start fresh tomorrow? What do you say?" 

"Yeah," he said, rising in some haste now that his ordeal was almost over. 

"And Michael?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Please don't allow things to come to this head again. If you have been falsely accused of something, I want you to come and tell me about it, all right?" 

"Yeah. So are we done?" 

She laughed. "Yes, we're done. I look forward to seeing you back with us tomorrow, Michael. And Mrs. DeLuca, I appreciate your bringing this matter to my attention. You've helped us rectify a very serious mistake." Ushering them out of her office as the bell rang, Mrs. Bruner gave them another smile. 

"That went pretty well," Amy said cheerfully as she started down the rapidly filling hallway. 

"Yeah. I guess so." 

"You guess so? Michael, you blew them away. You did great." She suddenly realized that he'd halted. "Michael?" He was staring uncomfortably down the hallway, his face grim. She followed his gaze and found it to be focused on a tall boy with dark hair and slightly protruding ears. "Isn't that your friend Max Evans?" 

Michael hesitated. "That's Max," he said carefully, then started down the hallway. He turned at the front doors before he reached the other boy, and strode outside without glancing Max's way again. Following, Amy noticed a matching tension on Max's face. He and Michael made a good pair. 

It only took a moment for her to catch up to Michael, who was standing on the sidewalk, looking as if he had nowhere to go. "Come on, Michael. I'll give you a ride home," Amy said gently. Without protest, he followed her to the Jetta and climbed in. He was silent for most of the trip back to his apartment building. 

Finally he spoke up. "Did Maria ask you to do all this?" His face was impassive, and Amy couldn't tell whether or not he hoped she had. 

"No, she didn't know about it." 

"Oh." Still a blank look. "Then...why did you?" 

Amy pulled up in front of his apartment building, once again ignoring the no parking sign. She looked at him. "Why did I? Let's see. On the one hand, you just broke up with my daughter, once again hurting her in the process. You have a history of getting into trouble. You don't seem to have any direction or ambition, and on the surface, you don't appear to care very much about yourself or about anything around you." She didn't miss the slight clenching of his jaw, although she was aware that he was trying to hide it. 

"On the other hand," she continued, "I've seen a little bit more of you in the last few weeks. I've seen you do some very kind things when I know you didn't want to. I've seen that you care about my daughter, whatever the current status of your relationship. And although it makes me very, very nervous, I've seen how much you mean to her. You are constantly surprising me, pushing the limits of what I think. 

"Mostly, I think you have potential. And I think everyone deserves a second chance," she added, for a moment feeling a bit far-off and sad; then she smiled. "So, Michael, as far as I'm concerned, this is your second chance. Don't blow it, okay?" 

He nodded mutely, still staring through the windshield. "Mrs. DeLuca...thanks," he said softly. "I...I owe you." 

It was her turn to shrug it off. "Enough of this nonsense. Work calls. And Michael, if I were you I'd go try to plow through the rubble that is your apartment. You've got the rest of the day off from school, so you might as well use it." 

He nodded and climbed out of the car. Amy smiled through the window, then pulled smoothly away from the curb. Lighthearted, she headed off to do further battle, this time on behalf of a multitude of plastic aliens instead of one lonely teenager.  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 16**_

Michael balled up a final T-shirt and jammed it into a dresser drawer before collapsing onto his couch in exhaustion. Other than the hole in the plaster of one wall, he could barely tell he'd completely wrecked the apartment on the previous day. Sure, without the now destroyed posters that had decorated the walls, it looked a little barren. Habitable, but Spartan. At least he'd been able to re-drape the tie-dyed cloth Isabel had given him over his window. It added one splash of color to the drab room. 

Leaning his head back, he stared up at the ceiling. He'd cleaned up most of yesterday's damage, but he didn't feel particularly good about it. Even the thought of how Mrs. DeLuca had championed him and gotten him back in school didn't really give him any joy. His whole life was such a pit that one positive thing--unbelievable as it was--didn't go far to brighten up his existence. He was too far down in the blackness. What little light there was was dim and seemed very, very far away. Five days away, at the very least. 

He closed his eyes in resignation, allowing himself to relax just the slightest bit. It was early afternoon; Isabel would still be in school. So maybe it would be safe to catch up on some much-needed rest after the last few sleepless nights. After all, he was still trying to catch up from the sleep deficit he'd accrued the previous month. He could grab a few hours with no chance of Isabel popping into his dreams. 

Not that she was likely to now, anyway. 

Depressed, he stretched out on his dilapidated couch and let his fatigue overwhelm him. Almost immediately he was caught up in a welter of uneasy dreams; images of pain and fear and loss overwhelmed him. He found himself running down a long corridor of strangely shifting walls; from who or what, he couldn't say. Maybe from a dream Hank, towering over him like an avenging giant. Maybe from his own cowardice and shame. Maybe from a Max and Isabel who loathed him for what he was, and pursued him ruthlessly, intent on harm. 

There were others in the dream, crowds of careless people who didn't see him barreling through their tightly-knit groups, who didn't hear him call out. He grabbed a guy in a denim jacket by the arm, swinging him around--and found he had no face, just a blurry impression of eyes and mouth. And this faceless person turned and walked away, as if Michael weren't there. 

Others soon followed, one or two at first, then whole groups of people, scrambling away from him as if to avoid some dreadful plague. Leaving Michael isolated in a world of shifting walls and uneven floors, sole prey of whatever followed. 

It grew brighter then, an unpleasant yellow-tinged light illuminating everything around him with almost painful clarity. On his left, the fluctuating walls solidified, freezing in place as they changed from endless corridor to a series of maze-like passages. Corners jutted out wherever two walls adjoined, looking abnormally--almost vindictively--sharp; even the floor itself seemed polished to a particularly brilliant hardness. 

Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, Michael turned to see a distant figure to his right, too far down the remaining piece of corridor to recognize. A sudden gut-wrenching panic overwhelmed him, and he began to run again, frantically searching the twisted passages for a place to hide, a place where he would be safe. 

He glanced over his shoulder as he ran and saw the figure catching up, even though it didn't seem to be moving at a fast pace. He ducked around another corner, and finally saw it--a safe haven. His own apartment door. 

Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out his key. He dropped it twice before he was able to get the door unlocked. Bursting through, he slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, his chest heaving from exertion. 

"Are you okay?" 

His head shot up, and he found he wasn't in his apartment after all. Instead he was in a familiar room. He looked behind him; sure enough, there was no door, just a blank expanse of pale wall. In front of him was a low blue chaise lounge. And standing behind it was Maria. 

He didn't have to question whether or not she was real. He knew she was, even though she was wearing a vibrantly colored top and knee-length denim skirt instead of the accustomed pajamas. She was real, all right, but what was she doing here? 

So he asked, rather rudely. "What are you doing here?" 

She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "Dreaming, what's it look like?" 

"It's daytime," he pointed out. "Why aren't you at school?" 

Rolling her eyes, she answered, "School's over for the day. I'm just catching a quick nap in Liz's room before I have to start my shift at the Crashdown. I haven't exactly been sleeping well, the last few nights." 

A pang of guilt struck him. He had a pretty fair idea of what was keeping her awake. He wanted to tell her that she needed the rest, but he knew he didn't have the right to. Not when he'd caused it. 

He could feel his frantic pulse slowing, becoming more steady, his breathing evening as his body shook off the adrenaline kick it had been riding. These changes evidently hadn't escaped Maria either; looking at him calculatingly, she said, "You looked pretty freaked when you burst in here." 

He didn't bother denying it. She knew him too well for him to lie about it. Instead he grunted out one word, "Nightmare." Maria nodded, and they both stood there uncomfortably. 

Not surprisingly, she was the first to break the silence. "So we can't even _talk_ now?" she complained, pain evident in her tone. 

He gritted his teeth. "Talk about what?" 

"Talk about what?" Maria shouted, advancing on him. "How about the fact that I have no idea what's going on here? God, Michael, you call me up and tell me that you need my help. Like an idiot, I say, 'Sure. No problem,' because I'm thinking that this is the first time you've actually come out and asked me for help--it's probably the first time you've asked _anyone_ for help--so how can I say no? And even when you proceed to tell me exactly what you need, I don't refuse. No, I go along with the big plan to watch you cut yourself off from Max and Isabel without interfering, even though I have no earthly idea why you think you need to do it, because you certainly aren't telling me! 

"I watch you hurt Max, and Alex, and Isabel. And god knows you hurt me. I used up all my cedar oil, and my friends are devastated, and you end up breaking things off with me with no explanation even though you _promised_ me you wouldn't push me away...I think I have a right to know what in the hell is going on!" 

"I can't tell you," he said hoarsely. 

"Why not?" she shrieked. 

"I...I just can't, all right?" He lifted hollow eyes to hers, hoping she wouldn't press him any further. 

"All right," she answered, her tone grudging. "Then can you at least tell me one thing?" 

He wasn't making any promises. "What?" 

"For some inexplicable reason, you feel the need to avoid Max and Isabel. I get that, even if I don't have a clue why. But how come you decided you had to include the rest of us in that group?" 

"I didn't want to," he said slowly, trying to put things into words that made sense. "If I'd cut myself off from them, and not from you and Alex and Liz, it would've ended up pulling everyone apart. You guys would have ended up having to choose them or me, and nobody would be happy with it. It would have gotten really ugly." 

"As opposed to the scene yesterday?" she commented dryly. 

"Yeah." 

"So instead of tearing the group apart, you tore yourself out. Very quixotic. God, you don't do anything by half measures, do you, Spaceboy?" 

His only response was a shrug. Couldn't she see how sticky things would have gotten for the humans, caught in the middle? He'd had good intentions. Yeah, maybe the reality of it wasn't that pristine, and she would probably say he should have asked before making the decision for them, but it was too late. He'd done what he had to. 

Maria sighed. "Did you have any idea it would be this hard?" 

"I pretty much knew the whole thing was gonna suck, yeah." He shifted from foot to foot and his voice got quieter. "I didn't mean for it to go as far as it did. Not with anybody. But Max wasn't buying it; he wasn't gonna let me just stay away. I had to try something else. It just kinda escalated from there." He jammed his hands into his pockets and stared down at the floor. "Do they...do they all hate me?" 

The question was so quiet that, for a moment, he wasn't sure she really heard it. Then she stiffened as its meaning got through. He hoped she could tell how important this answer was to him, that she wouldn't give him an hasty response without really thinking it through first. 

"They're...upset," she said carefully. "Max feels as much guilt as anything else, I think. He really _was_ trying to help, Michael. Isabel doesn't want to believe it happened at all. She's spending a lot of time with Alex--he seems to be able to make her forget about it. He's really good at covering up how he feels with a joke, so I'm not sure what he thinks. Liz is mostly upset because she thinks you've wasted your photographic memory." He gave a grunt of disbelief, but grew more serious again as she continued, "Then again, you missed her in your little relationship-destroying mission. They'll leave you alone for now. But none of them _hate_ you, I promise." 

Michael lifted his head to study her. Almost afraid of the answer, he asked, "And you?" 

"I don't hate you either, Michael. I don't think I could." 

"But?" 

She hesitated for just a moment. "But I don't know if I like you very much right now, either. I know you have your reasons for doing what you did, but how you did it--that was cruel. I didn't know you could be like that." 

He nodded and looked away. He hadn't known either. It was a dark side that he didn't like. "Maybe you should just get out of here," he said quietly. 

Planting her feet firmly, she put her hands on her hips. "Why? You expecting another drop-in visit from Alien Bob?" 

"No...but he only appears when we're in this room, together. I don't want you around him. It's not safe." 

She took a few more steps towards him, and looked up to meet his eyes. "Michael...the last time he came, when you told me to get out...what did you see?" 

His jaw clenched. "I don't want to talk about it." 

"Why am I not surprised at that?" she shot back. "You never want to talk about anything." She let out a deep breath. "I really think I need to know. I mean, I'm not coming here on purpose. If I keep winding up here, I should know what I'm facing, don't you think? Or else we're going to have to take turns sleeping, so we don't accidentally meet here. And you may not have noticed, but I don't do so well on a chaotic sleep schedule. I get cranky." 

Yeah. He knew that. For a moment, one corner of his mouth twitched upwards, just the littlest bit; then he said, "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it." 

"You shouldn't _have_ to take care of it. _We_ should take care of it. It's my problem too, you know." 

"No, it's mine. This whole thing has to be my fault. Unless you're gonna tell me you suddenly developed alien powers or something," Michael scoffed. 

"Ummm...actually...." She looked away from him. 

"What?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. 

"Well, aside from the dreamwalking thing that keeps happening, I kind of healed Isabel." 

"_What?_" 

Michael looked at her, unable to form a coherent thought, as she explained how they'd come across the booby-trap at Tess's house, and how she'd healed the alien from her frozen state. At no point did he doubt her, but his brain couldn't seem to wrap itself around the idea that Maria--his very human Maria--was exhibiting powers that they'd always believed to be alien. 

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked finally. She seemed relieved that he believed her, but frustrated at his question. 

"When? You weren't exactly in the mood to talk that night, and the last time I saw you in here, Alien Bob popped in before I got to it. So when was I supposed to--during our last phone conversation, when you were too busy scheming and avoiding my questions? Yesterday morning when you were doing your best to, if you'll excuse the expression, alienate everyone? I'm telling you now." 

Feeling rather sheepish, Michael reached up and absently scratched his eyebrow. "So what does Max think?" 

"He doesn't have a clue," she admitted. "Just one more mystery for us to deal with, as if we didn't have enough already." 

"Maybe you could let him scan you," he suggested somewhat diffidently. "See if he can find anything...unusual." She looked at him skeptically. "I just want to make sure you're all right," he muttered. 

"Of course I'm all right. If I hadn't been able to help Isabel, who knows what might have happened? And it's not so bad, being here with you. Or at least it wouldn't be, if you hadn't decided to play Mr. 'Me against the world'." 

"I have to," he ground out. 

"So you say," she said, nodding. "Look, for the fifteen billionth time, I'm going to do what you want, even though I have no idea what's going on. I'm going to leave you alone. I won't talk to you, call you...I'll try not to even look at you if I see you on the street, if that's what you want. But that's out there. If we meet up in here, it's a different story. And once this whole horrible week is over, you owe me an explanation, got it? You owe us all one." Suddenly her head jerked around, as if she were hearing something far off in the distance. "I think Liz is trying to wake me up," she said. "I must be late for work. But start thinking, Michael. You have five days to figure out how you're going to get everyone to forgive you." 

He nodded, knowing she was right. It wasn't going to be easy, either. She seemed to think that he'd be able to do it, though; he wasn't nearly that certain. But he didn't argue with her, merely watching her for a moment until she blinked out of sight, and he woke up in his apartment. The real one, this time.  
  
  
*****  


With a carefully pasted-on smile, Maria served a tuna melt and onion rings to a customer, then moved over to the booth where Alex, Isabel and Max sat. Isabel toyed with the straw in her Tabasco-laced cherry cola while her brother and Alex scarfed down french fries. "We aren't just going to let him get away with it, are we?" she asked. "I don't care how much of a jackass he's being; he still needs our help." 

Maria knew instantly what--or rather, who--was the topic of their discussion. The same person they'd been talking about for the last three days, ever since the brutal confrontation in the school parking lot Monday morning. Actually, it had been longer than three days, what with the search for him over the weekend, and Nasedo's rejection before that.... She glanced around the almost-empty restaurant and waved Liz over. 

"I don't know," Max answered his sister. "He doesn't seem to want our help any more. Maybe we should respect that." 

"I don't care if he wants it--he _needs_ it," Isabel said fiercely. 

"Do we all still want to help him, though?" Maria asked, her voice soft. The others looked at her in shock, and she continued, "I mean, I know how I feel, but maybe the rest of you feel differently. He was...." She swallowed. "He said some awful things," she finished. 

"I still think there's more to it than that," Liz insisted. "He's been rash before, and certainly thoughtless, but not this deliberately cruel. I think he acted that way on purpose." Maria bit her lip, badly wanting to tell her best friend how right she was. But she would keep her promise to the so-called jackass. 

Alex nodded. "I agree. I don't think he's suddenly gone over to the Dark Side, no matter what Nasedo says. Not that I'm not still pissed off at him, but it's going to take a lot more than a few nasty cracks for me to turn my back on him. On any of you, for that matter. We should give him the benefit of the doubt." 

The others nodded. "That's settled, then," Max decided, sounding particularly relieved. He lowered his voice to avoid being overheard. "I think we should focus on Nasedo right now. If we can find out exactly why he's against Michael, maybe we can fix it. And then Michael will calm down some, if that's what's bugging him...." He trailed off doubtfully. 

"At least he's back in school," Liz pointed out. Maria snickered to herself. Trust her best friend to be excited about that. 

Although Maria herself was happy about it. She did still want Michael to have a future, after all, one that didn't include a lifetime of servitude at the Lift-Off. She just wasn't sure how it all had happened. She'd been totally unprepared to walk into English that morning and see Michael sitting there. And no one had acted like there was anything wrong. If she didn't know better, she'd think she imagined the whole expulsion in the first place. With a frown, she voiced her confusion. "What I don't get is how Michael got readmitted," she stated. 

"You of all people should know," said a dry voice behind her. What? Turning, she found a sardonic Kyle and a determined-looking...Tess? 

"What do you mean, Kyle?" she asked. 

"I'm surprised you don't know about it," he said. "Brad Phillips was in the office waiting to see Mr. Sutter when your mother stormed in, dragging Guerin behind her." 

Maria stared at him, slack-jawed. Her _mother?_ The woman who called Michael a juvenile delinquent, and tried to keep Maria away from him, had stood up for him? And she didn't even tell her own daughter? "My...my mother?" she stammered. 

"Yep. She was on a real tear, Brad said." 

Maria blinked, still trying to comprehend how her mother could have done something like that. Without _telling_ her about it. Sure, she had offered to share her mother with Michael, days ago, but she'd certainly never mentioned anything about it to her. And yet she had helped Michael anyway. A smile plastered itself on Maria's face. Way to go, Mom. 

"You didn't know anything about it?" Liz asked her. Maria shook her head, still smiling widely. If Michael wouldn't let her help him, wanted her to stay away, at least one DeLuca woman wouldn't be put off from standing up for him. He couldn't escape them, that was for sure. No matter how stupidly he behaved.... But she was _definitely_ going to have a little chat with her mother. 

She suddenly realized everyone was looking at her, and shook off her abstraction. She in turn looked at Kyle and Tess. "So...I didn't expect to see the two of you together," she commented. They weren't holding hands or anything, but they obviously hadn't come into the Crashdown separately, either. When did they become friends, anyway? 

"We need to talk," Tess said quietly, carefully focusing on Maria and not on the others. 

"What, you and me?" Maria said, startled. 

"No, all of us," the tiny blonde answered. She still kept her focus on Maria. "About Michael." 

Maria nodded, then glanced around the cafe. "We'll be closing in about twenty minutes, anyway. We can talk afterwards." 

Beside her, Liz spoke up. "Can I get you guys anything while you wait?" Her voice was serene even though Maria knew she couldn't be happy about the whole thing. Maria caught her eye and smiled, feeling particularly proud of her best friend. 

"We'll just sit over there," Tess said, pointing to an empty table. 

Maria turned back to the three sitting in the booth. Isabel in particular didn't look too happy. "You might have asked the rest of us if we were willing to talk to her," she chided. "Some of us aren't too fond of her." 

Maria's response was simple. "It's for Michael," she said. 

Some thirty-five minutes later, the restaurant was empty of patrons and reasonably clean. Pulling a table and three chairs up to the booth, they gathered to talk. 

"I think we should set some ground rules," Max said, starting them off. He looked directly at Tess. "No talk about destiny, or that book, or the idea of you and me being paired together." 

"That's not why I'm here," Tess snapped. "I'm worried about Michael, and I think you should be too." 

"Why do you say that?" asked Alex. "We are worried, but I'd like to know your reason for it." 

"Not to mention why you care," Isabel put in rudely. "Because Michael and I aren't following your little mating plan, either." 

"It's not my plan," Tess shot back, holding her own. "I didn't come up with it. And I care because I think that Michael is my brother." 

There was silence. Everyone looked stunned except for Kyle. He seemed to be enjoying the discomfiture on their faces, especially Max's. 

"Does Michael know?" Maria whispered finally. 

"I told him, but I don't think he was happy about it," Tess admitted, sadness entering her eyes. 

"Are you sure? Because family is really important to him. He's wanted it so badly, all his life," Maria told her, stopping at Max's look of surprise. "We talked about it," she said, smiling. "I know it's hard to believe, but he _is_ capable of sharing his feelings, you know. He's actually pretty good at it, once you get used to him." She turned to Tess, then back to Max, a saucy grin on her lips. "And if you ever tell him I said so, I'll see to it that you never get served the right order in here again, Max, got it? Tess," she continued, focusing on the alien, "Maybe you misunderstood him. I think Michael would be...overjoyed to have a sister." 

"Only if it weren't me," Tess said earnestly. 

"She's right--he didn't take it well. But she didn't exactly break it to him gently, either," put in Kyle. 

"You were there?" Isabel asked. 

Kyle nodded. "She told me he was her brother; he looked shell-shocked; he split. That's about all there was." 

"When was this?" Maria asked faintly. 

"Saturday evening. He came to see me." Ahhh. So this was what Michael was so upset about. Or at least part of it. And it happened when he was supposed to be distracting Tess so they could search her house.... 

If Tess really was Michael's sister, maybe she deserved to know what was going on. She'd seemed so concerned about him when he'd been expelled, after all.... Biting her lip, Maria looked around at the others. 

Ever positive, Alex was the first to nod. Liz followed soon after, although she didn't look terribly happy about it. But then again, who could blame her for that? Isabel, however, shook her head adamantly. "No. No way." Her brother looked at her, then at Liz, then back at Isabel. He didn't seem to know how he felt. 

These obvious visual cues did not go unnoticed by Tess. Well, she'd never struck Maria as stupid, after all. "Please. Tell me what's going on. I want to help Michael if I can." 

"You'd go against Nasedo?" asked Max, torn. 

"Nasedo has taken care of me my whole life, but Michael is my _brother_. He's not the only one who's grown up wanting a family," Tess answered steadily. "If I can help him, I will." Her voice grew a little desperate. "I'm not spying on you for Nasedo, and I'm not here to hurt you or make you do anything you don't want to. I just want to help my brother." 

"I'm sorry, Tess," Max said slowly. "I just don't know if we can trust you." 

"So read me and see for yourself," she flung at him. "I won't be able to lie to you that way. You _can_ do it, can't you? Michael wouldn't, but I thought your powers were stronger than his...." 

"Give her a chance, Evans," Kyle put in. "She means it." 

"I'll do it." Isabel's voice was cold as she looked Tess directly in the eye. "I don't want you messing with _my_ brother's head again. With _either_ of my brothers' heads, as a matter of fact." 

"Isabel--" Max began. 

"No, Max. I want to try this," his sister said. "We need to know." Max moved aside to let her out of the booth, and she crossed to Tess. Blue eyes met brown. Tess looked very young and unthreatening with the other alien towering over her. Isabel reached out, wrapping her fingers tightly around Tess's arm, and closed her eyes. Maria held her breath. 

When Isabel finally reopened her eyes, she seemed a little less tense. She turned towards Max. "She's still pretty fixated on our so-called destiny," she reported, "but she sincerely wants to help Michael. Unless she's hiding something." 

"I'm not," Tess vowed. 

Isabel scooted back into the booth next to her brother. "So I vote we tell her. Both of them." 

The two outsiders listened with apparent interest to the story Max spun. Tess did look a little sad when she found out Michael had only approached her as a diversion, but managed to keep her hurt in check long enough to listen to the rest of the tale. When Max had finished, she and Kyle sat there for a moment, processing what they'd just heard. 

"So you think that there's something about Michael in the secret room you discovered," Tess said finally. 

"Yeah. About him, or about all of you. Know anything about it?" Alex asked. 

Tess shook her head. "And we can't get in, because an alien will set off the booby-trap, and humans can't use the handprint," she mused aloud. 

Maria agreed wholeheartedly, remembering what had happened the first time. There was no way she was going through that again. 

But beside Tess, Kyle began to grin. "You know, I think I might have a way around that."  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 17**_

Dropping her bookbag on the kitchen counter, Maria headed for the refrigerator and a glass of orange juice. She felt strangely positive about things, considering the current non-status of her relationship with Michael, the strange and rather unsettling powers she'd been manifesting, the prospect of all the assorted alien weirdness...but they had a plan of action to deal with part of said alien weirdness, even if it came from Kyle, of all people. Plus the others hadn't written Michael totally off. So what if he was going to have some serious fences to mend? He could do it. She had faith in him. He was going to have to work hard though, especially with her. But she would bet every last one of her aromatherapy bottles that he'd be able to do it. If he'd only just _explain_ what was going on.... 

Juice in hand, she grabbed her books and headed out of the kitchen. She still had a couple of hours of homework left to do; that, on top of her waitressing shift and the impromptu planning meeting they'd had, was going to make for a very long evening. 

"Hey, Mom," she called as she exited the room and headed towards her bedroom. "I'm home." 

Amy greeted her, and Maria stepped into the doorway of the living room. Her mother was sitting on the couch, an open box on her lap and a peculiar expression on her face. 

"Whatcha doin'?" Maria asked, taking in the far away look in her mother's eyes. 

"Just looking at some old photos," Amy answered. She didn't quite seem herself, as if some long-forgotten emotion had her in its clutches. For a moment, Maria wondered if the box on her mother's lap had been the one Michael had told her about, the one that had freaked out her mother at the shop. But this was a shoe box, with faded print and a picture of a pair of high heels Maria could vaguely remember seeing Amy wear. She'd seen this box before, too, in its usual place on the shelf of the hall closet; she'd just never realized her mother kept photos in it. Not a big mystery though, not like the other box. A box that Maria was intensely curious about--but she wasn't sure if her mother would want to talk about it. 

"Sit down for a minute, honey. I need to talk to you about something." Startled, Maria took a seat on the couch next to her. Was her mother reading her mind? Is this where she got her newly-found powers from? Did some sort of psychic ability run in their family? 

She took a fortifying gulp of orange juice, then smiled rather shakily at her mother as she set down her glass. "Sure, Mom. What did you want to talk about?" 

"About something I did," Amy answered, then hesitated. 

Something she'd done? Suddenly realizing what this must be about, Maria smiled again, more widely this time. Of course. "I wondered when you were going to tell me," she said airily. 

Her mother seemed a little taken aback. "Then you already know? How?...And you're happy about it?" 

"Well, of course I'm happy about it. I don't know why you didn't already tell me. I mean, just because we aren't exactly getting along doesn't mean I don't want the best for him." 

At this, her mother looked every bit as startled as Maria had a few moments earlier. "To be honest, I didn't think you'd react this way. I didn't think you were ready to be this...mature about it." 

"Gee, Mom, thanks," said Maria, pretending to pout. "What did you expect me to do, sulk?" A glance at her mother confirmed that this guess wasn't as far off as she might have liked, and she grew a little more serious. "I'm really glad you did it, Mom. Michael doesn't have that many people who are willing to go to bat for him." 

A look of dawning comprehension washed over Amy's face. "You thought I meant Michael?" she said softly. 

"Well, yeah, how you got Michael readmitted to school. It meant a lot to me." 

"I didn't do it for you, honey. I just thought he needed a break, that's all." 

Maria leaned over and hugged her mother, taking care not to trap the woman's cast-covered arm between them. "That makes it even better," she said, her eyes growing just the slightest bit misty. "I know you're not exactly president of the Michael Guerin fan club, so that makes it mean even more. I really appreciate it, even if you didn't do it for me. _Especially_ if you didn't do it for me." 

"I didn't tell you about it before because I knew you two had broken up, and I didn't want to bring him up if you were angry with him. I didn't want to upset you," her mother said, watching Maria's face carefully for her reaction. But Maria didn't feel the least bit upset. She gave a reassuring smile, and her mother added softly, "You still care about him, don't you?" 

Turning sideways, Maria leaned one shoulder against the back of the sofa and smiled. "Do you remember when I told you I loved him?" At her mother's nod, she continued, "I don't think that will ever change. No matter what happens to us, in some way, I'll always love him." It was said simply and honestly. Her mother reached out with her good hand and stroked Maria's cheek. 

"Then Michael is very lucky," was all she said. 

Maria grinned suddenly. "Yeah? Well tell _him_ that the next time you see him, okay?" Picking up her juice glass, she took a sip of the golden liquid. "So if you weren't talking about helping Michael, what were you talking about?" 

Watching her mother put the lid back on the shoe box of photos and set it carefully on the coffee table, Maria felt a chill wash over her. She had a strong premonition that she wasn't going to like what was coming. 

Her mother seemed to sense this as well. Taking Maria's hand in hers, she said quietly, "I hired a detective to find your Uncle Teddy."  
  
  
*****  


Not all that far away, on another couch, a sturdy teenager sat with his feet propped up and the TV remote in his hand. He wasn't having much luck finding anything to watch, but he didn't really care. He was too busy marveling over the fact that he'd spent the evening in the company of the local 'Aliens R Us' affiliate, and it had been okay. He hadn't felt any awkwardness, even with Evans, and they'd treated him like a member of the club. All he needed now was the secret handshake and the alien decoder ring and he'd fit right in. It felt significant, and important, in a way hanging with his usual jock and drinking buddies never had. And on top of it all, he'd been the one to come up with a workable solution to one of the many--what was the word Maria used?--Czechoslovakian problems that faced them, when Evans and even genius Liz couldn't. Score one for the C student--all in all, not a bad day's work. 

It was strange, this sudden involvement in Evans's business. Not that he hadn't tried to force his way into what was going on the previous year, but that had been anger and jealousy about Liz, and it hadn't worked anyway. Things were different now. He felt like he'd been gradually changing ever since he'd been shot last spring. He and his dad had actually begun talking about things instead of merely co-existing in the same house. And once he'd actually gotten used to the idea that aliens were real and were attending West Roswell High, he'd started looking at things a little more clearly. Without being blurred by the rosy-hued filter of popularity, the one that made it so easy to ignore anything on the edges of his well-established life. 

He'd finally gotten up the nerve to talk to Michael Guerin about it. On the surface, an odd choice, yeah, but at that point in time he'd still been too caught up in the whole hating Max Evans mindset, and he wasn't about to try and have a guy-to-guy--no, make that guy-to-ET--talk with Isabel or Tess. Besides, in a weird sort of way, he'd always kind of admired Guerin. The guy never seemed to give a damn what anyone thought about him, and deep down Kyle had always known that he himself cared far too much. Maybe the lack of attention from a long-gone mother and a father too wrapped up in his job had made him a little too dependent on his friends' approval. Luckily, his natural athletic ability and outgoing personality had quickly driven him to the top of the social scene. He'd found the acclaim and approval he needed there. Hell, he'd been more popular as a sophomore than most of the seniors. 

And then he'd seen a little bit into Guerin's head and found out that the loser outcast was really a cover, a mask to hide all the guy's secrets. That when Guerin cared about something, he _really_ cared about it. And who'd have figured that what Guerin would choose to care about would be ditzy Maria DeLuca? 

The guy had problems, that was for sure. Problems beyond dealing with a human motormouth like Maria, even. A whole busload of crap having to do with who he was, or was supposed to be, all based on some moldy story about past lives and destined relationships. For that matter, Isabel and Tess had to deal with that stuff, too. And Evans, the poor son-of-an-alien, was supposed to lead them all through all the crap and save their home planet. 

Like he'd told Tess, he didn't wish that on anyone, even Max Evans. 

And yet knowing about it all somehow felt good. All the crap he'd gone through while watching himself lose Liz to another guy, and his father's obsession with first Evans and then the whole bunch of them--all that was worth it, because of the intergalactic importance of four everyday, normal-looking teenagers. 

His priorities were shifting. Sure, he still got high on the physical exertion of each practice and game, the feeling of his well-trained body stretching itself to its limits. He still hung with his friends. He still goofed around and drove too fast and stopped to check out every hot girl who passed by.... 

But maybe there was more to life than that, than his established place in the pack. Maybe he could be a part of something vital. 

He snorted. And maybe he was turning into a complete wuss.  
  
  
*****  


A third couch, a third teenager; although this one wasn't exactly human. Curled up with her feet tucked beneath her, Tess aimlessly tapped the cover of her Trig book with a perfectly manicured fingernail, her mind far from the angles and ratios of the day's lesson. It wasn't as if she was going to need it, once they got back to their real planet. Whoever heard of a Queen needing to calculate sines and cosines? 

She idly pictured herself as that Queen, sitting in a marble-encrusted throne room, a tiara shining on her blonde curls and Max at her side. Then she shook her head in exasperation. There she was again, picturing her former life like it was some sort of medieval fairy-tale fantasy. She'd told Michael that Nasedo hadn't wasted time on fairy tales when she was growing up, so why was she so obsessed with their pastel Disney prettiness now? 

Instead of fairy tales, she'd had the mission drilled into her head. Instead of glass slippers and ivory towers, she'd had hours spent practicing her powers. And she hadn't needed a Prince Charming. She'd had Max. 

Of course, she hadn't known that was his name. She hadn't known who he was or what he looked like, only that she belonged to him and he to her and together they would rule an entire world. That was better than any childish fairy tale, anyway. Because it was true. 

Odd, though. When she'd tried to picture her husband, he'd never looked like Max. His appearance had changed from daydream to daydream, sometimes sandy-haired, sometimes brunet, even redheaded...but somehow she'd never pictured him quite so _tall_. 

Even when Nasedo had finally located the three others, returning with boxes of pictures of Max, she hadn't realized how he would tower over her. It wasn't as if she'd been disappointed by the image in the photos--Max was nothing if not attractive. Actually, all four of them were, by human standards: Max with his warm brown eyes and shy smile; Isabel with her proud carriage and supermodel looks; even Michael, beneath a thick layer of scruffiness, was attractive, with high, chiseled cheekbones and hazel eyes that sparked with an inner defiance. And she'd always known that her own perky cuteness was something that human boys found appealing. The four of them were definitely special, in more ways than just their origin. It seemed right that they would be joined together, fit partners in a four-person dance of destiny. 

But that still didn't alter the fact that Max was so very, very tall. At least when compared to her own diminutive stature. Well, maybe it was appropriate: barred from expressing itself in a more obvious--and therefore potentially dangerous--way, the very essence of royal power manifesting itself in a physical trait. A ruler literally towering over her, extreme in height if not in power. 

Of course, that didn't explain Michael, who was even taller than Max, so maybe it was just the luck of the human gene-pool draw. Besides, if Max had ever reached Michael's height, she would end up with a perpetual crick in her neck. 

Thinking of her tall, broad-shouldered brother, she smiled. He was such a wonderful surprise, a bonus she'd never counted on. Her daydreams, growing up, had been filled with her husband or with his sister, who she'd always considered to be her best friend even though they hadn't met in this lifetime. She'd been certain they would come together, the only two on this temporary planet who could understand what it was like to be alien, and female, in a strange world. She'd always known they would be friends once they met. 

But in the midst of dreams about her husband and sister-in-law, she'd never actually given much thought to her husband's second, her friend's betrothed. He was just there to complete the square. And when she'd met him, for a while she'd thought of him that way, just a necessary tool, albeit an untrusting and suspicious one. 

And then she'd deciphered part of the book, retrieved from Michael after that wonderful and horrible day last spring when they'd received the message from home. She'd been idly flipping through its metal pages, staring at incomprehensible symbols she'd seen a million times before, it seemed; then all of a sudden a few of the symbols made sense, then a few more. It was as if a window in her brain opened, allowing a once-known language to spring up fresh in her mind. Well, partially anyway. She could only make out a few of the symbols, not all of them. But what they'd said.... 

They'd spoken of 'the brother' and she'd known. Ideas and concepts flooded into her mind, and she remembered. Somehow she knew bits and pieces of life on their home planet. That families always consisted of fours, a particularly strong and meaningful number in what might pass as a religion back there. That each set of parents had one viable chance of offspring and that the births were always twins, one male and one female. That the links between the pod-sibs were powerful, an instinctive connectedness that formed a bond as strong as the parent-child bond, as strong as the pair-bond of lifemates. That pod-sibs were so integrally connected, sometimes sharing each other's very thoughts, that one never survived the death of the other. They needed each other to exist. The sib-bond formed their entire society into a resilient lattice, a framework of connections and lives. 

Two twins, connected with their parents into a family quad, each serving as a connector to a new quad as they grew to establish pair-bonds of their own, birthing twin children of their own. Quad upon quad, four upon four.... 

Four square. 

Max and Isabel, Michael and Tess. Max and Tess, Michael and Isabel. A double bond as pod-sibs paired with pod-sibs. A connection so strong that no one would be able to defeat them. 

Except they had been defeated. They'd all died, after all, and been reincarnated into their current mix of human and alien, sent to grow and learn so they could once again face that which had killed them. So they could free their planet. 

That wasn't the most important thing, though. Strangely enough, after a lifetime of being taught that the mission--their very reason for being--was of primary importance, Tess had discovered that finding her brother superseded it. And even though these human-hybrid bodies weren't equipped to handle the almost spiritual strength of their sib-bond, she knew that once it had been there. And she would do whatever she needed to, for her brother. 

She wondered rather cynically if the reason Nasedo had never told her of her familial relationship with her husband's second was because he was afraid of the power of the sib-bond. Afraid she would veer away from his teachings to follow her brother's wishes. She didn't know why the shapeshifter would fear this; she'd never questioned him before. She'd always done everything he'd asked of her. She'd never disobeyed, never doubted him. 

Until now. 

It didn't matter to her that Nasedo believed Michael to be some sort of threat to the mission. It didn't matter that he had told the others to sever their link with Michael. It certainly didn't matter that, for some reason, Michael had decamped first, or that he'd rejected her when he'd found out he was her brother. After all, she hadn't broken the news very well, and, without the glimpses of the past she'd gotten from the book, how could he be expected to know just how deep and abiding their bond was? It wasn't a natural part of their human halves. 

What mattered was Michael. And the others thought so, too--not just Max and Isabel, but the humans. And so here she was, for the first time in an entire life devoted to one thing, on the necessity of her role in saving the planet, here she was doing something that just days ago would have been unthinkable. 

She was going to work against Nasedo. 

Well, not _against_ him exactly, but with the others. _For_ Michael. She was still going to do whatever Nasedo demanded; she was just going to do whatever she could to aid Michael as well. 

Her pod-sib. Her brother. 

She smiled then, strangely elated at the prospect. Surely once she'd had time to explain to him, once he'd seen how she'd worked to help him, surely Michael would understand, and accept what was. 

"You look rather pleased with yourself." 

Tess looked up to see her erstwhile guardian-cum-protector in the doorway. She hadn't heard him come in, although she'd venture to guess he'd pulled the car up to the house and walked casually in just like the innocuous human he was pretending to be. 

"I am. Not with myself, but with the status of things. I believe they're beginning to go the way you wished," she said calmly, swinging her feet off the couch and setting her forgotten Trig book on the end table next to her. 

"Oh?" 

"There seems to be some trouble between Michael and Max," she reported dutifully. "The second-in-command is acting differently than the leader expects him to." 

The expression on Nasedo's face did not shift, but somehow Tess could sense his alarm. "Acting differently how?" he asked, his outward manner as calm as hers. 

"There was a rather public argument in the school parking lot the other morning. I wasn't near enough to hear what they were fighting about, but I think whatever it was put a strain on their friendship," she said truthfully, then embroidered, "Perhaps Max will be a little less blindly loyal and a little more ready to listen to you now." 

The shapeshifter nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps. He will come to me when he is ready. In the meantime, take this opportunity to draw closer to them. Find out what they're thinking." 

"I'm not sure I can. Max doesn't want to do what's right; he's still fixated on Liz Parker." 

"Then you must get around that. Try one of the others in their group. Perhaps...perhaps the other human, the blonde girl." 

"Maria DeLuca?" Tess said, startled. 

"She doesn't seem terribly bright, but she got in the second's good graces somehow. If nothing else, she might have some insight on his sudden personality change, so I can assess the threat he presents more clearly." 

Tess was fairly sure that this rather negative appraisal of Maria was incorrect, but she didn't say anything. She herself was curious to see just what the girl had in her to draw Michael so strongly into her grasp. And, although it was of small importance compared to the issue of assisting Michael, she was very interested in the sudden powers Maria displayed. Powers a human of this era shouldn't have access to. The others had glossed over them during the discussion, so she purposely hadn't made a fuss about it. But that didn't mean she wasn't interested. 

With these thoughts running through her head, Tess gave an obedient nod. It certainly couldn't hurt to have an excuse to be near them, even if her true motivation was the opposite of Nasedo's, at least in respect to Michael. And that evening they'd been--well, if not exactly friendly, at least not cold. Even Liz Parker, who must be nothing if not resentful of Tess's presence, had been almost kind. 

And if it laid the groundwork to wrangle information out of Nasedo, so much the better.  
  
  
*****  


In a shabby apartment across town, a rather dilapidated couch went unused as Michael Guerin paced the night away. His mind was less on the break with the others, less on his sister's death than it had been. Instead, it was focused on the future. Something was coming. He'd been feeling it for a while, but in his gut he knew it was near. And whatever it was, it was going to be ugly.  
  
  



	18. Chapter 18

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 18**_

Juggling her keys, purse and the bakery bag with her good hand, Amy DeLuca opened the back door and stepped into her kitchen. The door hadn't been locked; Maria must be home. Rather relieved, Amy set the bag and purse down on the counter. She knew Maria wasn't scheduled to work that afternoon, but she hadn't been sure her daughter would want to be anywhere near the house today. Not that she would have expected Amy home at this hour; she'd closed up the shop early in the hope of finding Maria home and willing to talk. 

Hence the bakery bag, a peace offering of sorts, containing two of New Mexico's richest, most sinfully creamy chocolate éclairs. Each as big as a moderately-sized sub sandwich, they were a particular favorite of Maria's. Amy had driven halfway to Hondo to get them. It wasn't often that the DeLuca women indulged, but when they did, they went all out. 

A pang of guilt hit and hit hard. Amy was not unaware that it was rather pathetic to be trying to bribe her daughter to talk to her with baked goods, even decadent chocolate ones, but she couldn't keep herself from trying. After listening to her announcement about the detective the previous night, Maria had stood and moved silently to her room, not to appear again until this morning. She hadn't said a word then either, just made her way past Amy and out the door on her way to school. 

And that worried Amy. Seeing her daughter, the chatterbox, either unable or unwilling to speak put an ache in her heart. Perhaps she should have tried to clear up this whole mess years ago, but it had been too painful, and she'd put it off. Elapsed time hadn't made it any easier, and now she was faced with a daughter who refused to even speak her uncle's name, let alone hammer out long-unresolved issues about him. 

With a deep breath, she moved quietly out of the kitchen in search of her daughter. When she found her, she paused in the living-room doorway, her glance filled with a mixture of love and regret. Her beautiful daughter lay on the couch, an open textbook propped on her stomach. She was sound asleep. 

Well, she wouldn't disturb her. She looked so tired, as if she hadn't been sleeping very well lately. Amy was willing to take some of the blame for any sleep lost on the previous night, but she suspected this lack of sleep wasn't new and that it usually centered around one Michael Guerin. Amy sighed. She could well remember the emotional vicissitudes of being seventeen, radiantly happy one moment and broken-hearted the next. At least Maria wasn't dealing with a teenage pregnancy on top of everything else, like Amy herself had. Then again, maybe some of her own emotional ups and downs back then had been exaggerated by the hormonal changes pregnancy had visited upon her.... But Maria wouldn't have to worry about that, since she wasn't having sex yet. Thank god. And if Amy had anything to say about it, she wouldn't until she was married. And at least thirty.... 

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Amy headed back into the kitchen to make herself some tea. Time enough to talk when Maria awoke. Until then, she'd just let her sleep peacefully.  
  
  
*****  


Maria's body may have been sleeping peacefully, but her mind probably wasn't all that surprised to find itself in a familiar room, with an all-too-familiar companion. Who she was evidently in no mood to see. 

"Oh, it's _you_ again," she said sourly, tromping over to the blue fainting couch and plopping onto it. 

Michael looked at her in surprise. "You expecting someone else?" he asked. 

"No, I guess not. But is it too much to ask to have one little moment of uninterrupted sleep?" 

A hurt look appeared in Michael's eyes; luckily for him, she was too busy staring into space to notice. When he spoke, it was very calmly, though. "You're the only one who can get yourself out of here. So wake yourself up. When I wake up, too, I'll stay awake, and you can have this place all to yourself." 

She didn't respond, nor did she make a move to wake herself. Instead she swung her feet up onto the couch and leaned back, her eyes closed. Ignoring him. 

Michael watched her for a moment, concerned with her gloomy behavior. Hell, he'd seen thunderstorms that were sunnier. And the way she'd stalked over to the couch...he was surprised the floor hadn't cracked beneath her feet. "What's wrong?" he finally asked. 

"What do you mean, what's wrong?" she shot back, her eyes still closed. 

"Just what I said. You're acting weird." 

"Oh, so now I'm acting weird," came the maddening reply. "God forbid anyone should act differently than you expect." 

"Look," said Michael, carefully keeping his frustration in check, "I know you're mad at me for what I did the other morning, and for not telling you what's going on. And I guess you have a right to be. But is this still about that, or is there something else? 'Cause this seems different." 

She didn't even look at him as she muttered, "Not everything is about you, Michael." 

"I didn't say it was, okay? That's why I'm asking!" She was silent, and he moved to the side of the couch, continuing in exasperation, "I'm just trying to help here." 

That finally had her sitting up and looking at him. "Well, I didn't ask for your help!" 

"That doesn't mean you're not gonna get it!" he shouted back. Then he heard himself. He ran a hand through his hair and lowered his voice to a normal conversational level. "Maria, what's going on?" 

The dam burst. "I know I'm being cranky, and I know you're just trying to help, but this isn't about you or about anything Czechoslovakian, and I just don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it. I just want to be left alone, so if I want to sulk I can sulk, and you do it all the time, so why shouldn't I, because I don't want to talk about it, and I...I just don't want to talk about it!" 

A pause; then with a brusque nod, Michael sat on the end of the fainting couch, by her feet. "So I can't do anything," he said evenly. 

It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway. "No." 

Another nod. After a moment, he said, "You gonna tell me if I can?" 

"Michael, there's...." she began, then gave in. "Yes. I'll tell you." 

"Okay, then." He rose to his feet and crossed over to one of the pale walls, sitting and leaning against it. He tilted his head back and shut his eyes, breathing evenly. 

"Michael?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Thank you." 

He didn't have to ask for what. He knew, and he knew she knew: he was trying to give her whatever space the room allowed. "You do it for me all the time," was his only comment. 

Resting his forearms on his bent knees, he tried to remain unobtrusive. Inside, however, he was going crazy, not being able to take action and put a stop to whatever it was that was bothering her. He hated seeing her like this. And he felt helpless to do anything about it. Even if she'd told him what was wrong, he still might not have been able to do anything about it. He wasn't good at that stuff. Fixing things. But he would have tried. 

Instead, he got to sit there, as cut off from her in this dream as he was when awake. Only this time she was shutting _him_ out, not the other way around. Even though he probably deserved it. 

Maria must have made a sound then, or moved, because he looked up just in time to see her flicker and disappear. He had just enough time to realize that she must have woken up before he too was thrust out of the dream room and back into his empty apartment.  
  
  
*****  


Maria wasn't sure what had awakened her. She knew she hadn't done it herself, so something outside her dream must be responsible for pulling her out. Blinking, she looked around the room, taking in the light that still poured in through the window and the French text that lay open across her stomach. She'd fallen asleep while trying to study. So much for improving her French grade. Gloomily, she focused back on the intransitive verb conjugation she'd been trying to memorize. _Bouder_: to pout or sulk. How appropriate. _Je boude, tu boudes, il boude, elle boude..._Yeah, _elle boude_ all right. 

A noise from the kitchen pulled her attention away from her book. Glancing at her watch, she realized it was only 4:13. She hadn't slept that long, then. But if it was only 4:13, who was making noise in the kitchen? "Mom?" she called, dropping the textbook on the couch as she rose. "Are you home early?" 

She supposed she should talk to her mother. Apologize for her sullenness this morning, a mood she'd liberally bestowed on everyone that day. Heading towards the kitchen, she rubbed at her neck. She must've been lying funny as she slept, because she sure had a crick now. Great. Or maybe, in keeping with the French lesson, that should be _formidable_. Whatever. Reaching the doorway, she saw her mother standing by the sink with a teacup in her good hand. 

"So how come you're alrea--" she began, then stopped abruptly. 

Her mother wasn't alone. Amy DeLuca stood, holding the teacup so tightly it seemed it would shatter, her attention focused on the man by the back door. 

The man holding the gun. 

Frozen in place, Maria looked from the man to her mother and back again. "W...what's going on?" she managed to stammer. 

The man glanced over at her, seeming unperturbed by her entrance. Then he took a closer look and gave a start of surprise. "And I thought he'd dreamed you up," he said dryly. 

"What? Who?" Maria muttered, still staring at the stranger. He seemed familiar somehow, but she was sure she'd never seen him before. Tall and thin, he had sandy brown hair that was going silver at the temples. He wore khaki slacks and a blue polo shirt that echoed the color of his eyes. He looked totally innocuous. 

Except he was standing in their kitchen, pointing a gun at her mother. 

Amy finally managed to speak, her protective instincts overwhelming her obvious shock. "Who are you? What do you want?" 

Maria, who was just beginning to have a horrible suspicion of the stranger's identity, of just why he seemed--no, make that _sounded_--so familiar, nevertheless didn't give up hope. Maybe this was just a break-in, a thief looking for a quick score on cash and jewelry. Well, unless he wanted her mother's collection of Looney Tunes glasses--which was missing Daffy Duck due to an unfortunate peanut butter incident--he was pretty much out of luck at this particular house. But since when did burglars dress this neatly? 

But there could be other explanations. Maybe...maybe it was the private eye her mother had hired. But then why did she look so scared? Or it could be their not-so-friendly neighborhood shapeshifter. He was dangerous enough, but at least she had some idea as to his motives. Yes. Considering who she thought it might be, she was voting for the shapeshifter. 

"N..Nasedo?" she stammered hopefully. 

No such luck. The stranger shook his head. "Wrong. Try again." 

Swallowing hard, Maria whispered, "Bob?" 

"Bingo! Score one for the little lady." 

"Maria, who is this?" Amy asked shakily. 

"Mom, quiet," hissed Maria, never once taking her eyes off the stranger. 

Her mother ignored her. "There isn't much money in the house, but you can have it. Just take it and leave us alone." Ah. Mom was going for the well-dressed burglar scenario. Not a bad choice, considering she had no idea that the man--creature--whatever was some dream-walking, Michael-taunting alien with god knows what powers who wanted to use her daughter's half-human boyfriend--no, _ex_-boyfriend, he'd broken up with her--as some sort of pawn in an unknown interplanetary power game.... 

Alien Bob paid just as much attention to her mother's statement as she'd paid to Maria's hushing. In other words, none. "Where is he?" he asked. His voice was calm, his tone reasonable, and yet it seemed like a demand. 

Amy spoke again, before Maria could. "Who?" Once again she ignored Maria's shushing noises, and repeated, "Who?" 

The stranger looked at her with amused contempt, then motioned with the gun towards Maria. "I think this one knows." 

"What do you want with him?" Maria asked steadily, one small part of her brain carrying on staunchly while the rest contemplated jumping up and down in terror and screaming for cedar oil. 

"I hardly think that's your worry. I know he's here--I can feel him." 

What? This guy could sense Michael, like she could? She had something in common with Alien Bob? Ewww. "He's not here." 

"Who's not here?" Amy burst in. 

Glancing towards her mother, Maria said, "Michael." She lifted her chin defiantly and turned back to Alien Bob. "He's not here," she repeated. 

"Michael? Maria, what kind of trouble is that boy in?" 

"He's not in trouble. This isn't his fault." 

Amy didn't seem to hear her. "Oh, god. What is he involved in now?" A horrified expression crossed her face. "This isn't about drugs, is it? God, I never _liked_ him, but I never pegged him for--he hasn't got you caught up in it, has he?" she seethed over Maria's protests. Turning to the stranger, she snapped, "Who are you? His dealer? What?" 

"Mom, Michael does _not_ do drugs," Maria insisted at the top of her lungs, crossing over and grabbing her by her good arm. "He would _never_ do that. He's a good guy, I promise you." 

"Then why is there a strange man in my kitchen, pointing a gun at my daughter and looking for him?" her mother screeched. "I want the truth, Maria, and I want it now." Maria pressed her lips together firmly, refusing to answer. She couldn't. 

Bob looked at the two women and cleared his throat. They turned back towards him, as if suddenly remembering his presence, and he gave a dry little chuckle. "She doesn't know, does she?" Wordlessly, Maria shook her head. He continued, "But you do. How very, very interesting." 

"What don't I know?" 

Ignoring her mother's question, Maria repeated it again: "He's not here." 

"I hope you don't mind if I see for myself." He gestured with the gun. "Both of you. Go through that doorway. And don't try anything foolish. I'd hate to have to do something you'd regret." Keeping the gun trained on them, he followed them through the house. As they went from room to empty room, he lost his smile, and Maria grew more and more frightened. They ended up back in the living room, the two DeLucas sitting side by side on the couch as the alien paced back and forth. 

"Where is he?" he demanded. 

"I don't know," Maria whispered. "What do you want with him?" 

"Let's just say it's...family business." 

She frowned. "Michael doesn't have a family." 

"Oh, doesn't he, though?" He seemed to grow more impatient then. "Why isn't he here? I felt him here. He led me here," the alien muttered to himself. "I can _still_ feel him...." He turned sharply to Maria. "You. I can feel him on you. Come here." 

"Maria!" Amy protested. 

"It's okay, Mom," she said, pressing her mother's hand firmly. But her knees wobbled as she rose and moved towards him. She stopped several steps away, too afraid to go any nearer. He oozed forward. 

Amy began to rise from the couch. "Leave my daughter alone," she shouted. The stranger shot her a cold look. 

"Sit back down and keep quiet. You don't know anything, so you're of very little use to me. One more sound out of you, and you'll find yourself on the wrong end of a little target practice." She didn't comply until he added, "Unless you'd like me to aim for your darling daughter here instead. Yes, I thought that would get the job done," he sneered before turning back to Maria, who was making a vain attempt to control her trembling. 

His eyes narrowed as he studied her, almost testing her aura for a hint of Michael. "I can practically smell him on you," he accused. 

Maria turned her head and tried to smile reassuringly over her shoulder at her mother. "It's not as bad as it sounds, Mom, really." But she flinched as his hand darted out and grabbed at her chest, and she couldn't help but let out a little shriek. Her mother bit her lip to keep from crying out. 

Bob evidently wasn't going for any sort of weird alien molestation, though, because his hand stopped at the neckline of her shirt. "What have we here?" he murmured, grabbing the sky-blue ribbon that hung around her neck. He slowly pulled it out from her shirt, revealing the silk pouch that hung from it, then gave a sharp tug. The ribbon broke. Maria let out a cry of pain, her hand flying up to the burning skin at the back of her neck. Thank goodness she'd never switched over to some sort of cord or chain, or she could be bleeding seriously right now. 

Biting her lip, she watched as the alien pulled open the pouch and tilted its contents into his empty hand. The blue crystal lay, shining softly, on his palm. 

"Where did you get this?" he demanded, studying its shifting blue colors. 

"At the mall," she lied. 

"I hardly think so. It reeks of him. Try again." He waggled the gun back and forth, as if to remind her of its presence. She wasn't an idiot; she hadn't forgotten it was there. 

Maria's eyes dropped to the floor, and she admitted, "He gave it to me." 

"So, I've been tracking this and not him." He eyed her appraisingly. "He doesn't live here, does he." 

"No." 

"Then I suggest you get on the phone and get him here." 

She didn't even hesitate. "No." 

He seemed rather amused by her audacity. "You do know what I can do to you, even without my metal friend here," he said, gesturing with the gun. "Don't you?" 

"N..not exactly." 

"Well, unless you want your mother to find out firsthand, I suggest you get him over here rather quickly." 

Maria stared at him for a moment, her heart pounding. How could she put Michael in danger? He wouldn't know what was coming...But how could she let anything happen to her mother? But Michael.... 

The alien seemed to be losing patience. "Call him," he ordered. "And I think we'll let my presence be a nice little surprise. I'm sure you'll be able to come up with a good reason to get him here. Unless you prefer to have one less parent." 

"He...he might not even be at home," she protested. 

"You'd better hope he is." 

Numbly, Maria moved towards the kitchen and the phone. She was vaguely aware of her mother and the alien following her. Her mind was jumbled with a thousand fears. If Michael were still home, would he answer the phone? After her sullen brush-off in the dream room, would he even talk to her, much less come over? And if he did, what would this creature do to him? 

Maybe, just maybe, she could warn him that something was wrong, without letting on to Alien Bob. If she was very, very careful.... 

With trembling fingers, she reached for the telephone.  
  
  
*****  


Struggling against the pull of sleep, Michael finally opened his eyes. He looked around his apartment, feeling edgy with distraction. She'd closed off from him, as efficiently as he had rebuilt his own stone wall so many times before. And he hated it. 

He felt so very lonely, like he hadn't really felt since the three years after he'd come out of the pod. And like then, it was his own fault now. If he'd taken Max's hand instead of being so afraid back then...if he hadn't made the stupid deal with Nasedo.... He wasn't sure which was worse, the loneliness of the past where he didn't really understand what was going on within the strange world in which he found himself, or the loneliness of the present, where he knew exactly what he'd done. 

He lay staring up at the ceiling for a while, not really feeling like moving. He had a little while before he had to leave for his shift at the Lift-Off; he was on closing that night. He supposed he could spend some time with his new-found buddies, his textbooks; but even winning his bet with Maria held no appeal for him just now. 

And so he just lay there, a person-shaped lump on his ratty couch. Even the ringing of his phone didn't make him move, since nobody he knew would be calling him, and why bother with a wrong number? They'd realize once they got the answering machine. 

And there it was, his own voice: "Leave a message." 

But what he heard next had him sitting upright in a flash. Another voice, one he knew very well. Maria. 

"Mike? It's Maria." 

Well, he _knew_ it was her. She didn't have to announce herself, like he wasn't gonna recognize her voice. But why was she calling him Mike? She knew how he felt about nicknames; was she purposely trying to piss him off? Get a little of her own back? Well, he didn't have to play her game; he just wouldn't pick up. And considering that she'd agreed to leave him alone, she shouldn't be calling him, anyway. 

These thoughts flew rapidly through his head as Maria kept talking. "Yeah, good. We're all good." A brief pause. "Actually, Mom was saying it's been a while since she'd seen you, so I thought I'd call and see if you could come over for dinner." Another pause. "Yeah, tonight. I'm going to make lasagna again. You liked it the last time." 

There was no other explanation for it. Maria had cracked up. For one thing, she couldn't cook. For another, why was she holding a one-sided conversation with his answering machine? He scrambled off the couch to the phone and picked up. 

"Maria, what the hell's wrong with you?" 

There was a startled pause, then she continued her conversation. "Sure, Mike. In fact, why don't you come over early, and we can do some studying while the lasagna cooks? We could get a head start on that joint English paper. I think we should do it on that 'road less traveled by' poem. You know, the Czechoslovakian one?" 

"English paper?" he repeated in confusion. What the hell was she talking about? Yeah, they were in the middle of an interminably long poetry unit in English, but lately he'd been careful to pay close attention in class, and he couldn't remember any English paper. Much less a joint project. Unless it had been announced during his one-day expulsion.... No. Mrs. Gideon would have said something in class again yesterday or today. Maria was tripping. "That 'road less traveled by' poem", she'd said...did she mean 'The Road Not Taken'? It had only been last week that they'd read it, and he could easily picture it on the page: 

    ...Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- 
    I took the one less traveled by, 
    And that has made all the difference. 

So if there wasn't a project, why was she yammering on about some Robert Frost poem, anyway? And Frost was an American, not a Czechos--Goddammit. He was fucking stupid. Robert Frost...Czechoslovakian Robert...Alien Bob. 

On the other end of the line, Maria was still talking. "So I'll see you soon, Mike?" Her voice wavered just the tiniest bit. 

"Shit, he's there, isn't he? Hang on, Maria. I'm coming," he told her firmly. "I'll be there." 

"Okay...bye." Then there was a click as she disconnected the other end of the line. Grabbing his jacket, Michael raced for the door. Fuck his plan to stay away from her. Maria was in trouble.  
  
  
*****  


As he ran across town, Michael tried in vain to get a handle on the situation ahead. His heart was screaming at him to run even faster, to get there and help Maria, but his brain was objecting strenuously. He was going in blind, and that was stupid. Reckless. As much as he wanted to burst in and kick some alien butt, he wasn't about to take any chances with Maria's safety, not if he could help it. 

Not unless he had backup. 

He stopped in his tracks, and turned to look behind him at the pay phone he'd just passed. He fumbled in his pocket for change as he sped over to it. He had enough for one phone call. 

The problem was, he didn't know who to call. And he didn't have much time to decide. 

It had to be Max or Isabel. If he'd understood what Maria was trying to say, if that voice from his dream was really there, in her house, he would need all the help he could get. Definitely someone with alien powers, ones that actually worked. With Nasedo out-and-out against him and Tess having ambiguous and untrustworthy motives, he was left with Max or Isabel. 

Neither of whom would want to talk to him right now. 

Of the two, Max was normally the more reasonable. But Michael had centered most of the fight Monday on him, really pissing him off, so he was probably less likely to want to listen now. Plus who knew if he'd even be home to take the call? He could be at the UFO Center, or hanging around the Crashdown mooning over Liz. And while Isabel was likelier to react emotionally--she was a girl, after all--she had the cell phone, which she took everywhere. So she was more likely to answer. And so there wasn't really a choice. 

He dropped the coins into the phone and dialed Isabel's number. It rang twice before it was picked up. Michael swore; he'd gotten her voice mail. Dammit! He waited impatiently for her message to end, then spoke swiftly, not bothering to identify himself. She'd know who it was. He just had to start it off so she would listen to the whole message and not cut it off when she realized it was him. 

"Maria's in trouble. Alien at her house. I'm on my way there now. Help her.... Please." 

There. That was all he had time for. Hopefully Isabel would check her messages soon. He was sure that she would help, for Maria's sake. If she got the message in time. He couldn't waste time worrying about it; he had to get to Maria. 

As he neared the DeLuca house, he purposely slowed his steps down and attempted to catch his breath. Maria had tried to make it sound like he was just coming over for dinner; he would play that game until he could figure out what was going on. 

Strolling casually up to their front door, Michael pressed the doorbell and stood, waiting, trying not to let his agitation show. A moment later, the door swung open, and there she was. To his relief, she didn't look hurt; but he could see the panic in her expression. Her eyes flickered to the left, and he got the sudden feeling someone was standing behind the door. 

He'd play it cool. "Hey," he said. 

"Hi, Mike," she said steadily, the calmness of her voice belying the look in her eyes. He didn't miss the nickname, and he gave her the tiniest nod, trying to tell her without words that it would be all right, that he was here. 

"Thanks for the dinner invitation," he said. "So do I get to come in, or are we eating in the front yard?" 

"What? Oh, yeah, come in," she said, backing away from the door. 

He took a deep breath and followed her into the house, shutting the door behind him. No one was standing behind it, but a shiver crossed his spine and he knew that whatever it was he'd been dreading was upon him. For just a fraction of a second Maria hesitated in the living room doorway; then she moved in. 

Michael followed. 

Maria headed straight for the couch and sat next to her white-faced mother, grabbing her hand and clutching it tightly. Michael gave the older woman a brisk nod. "Hey, Mrs. DeLuca." He then turned to the man with the gun, deliberately placing himself between the stranger and the DeLuca women. He got straight to the point. "Who are you and what do you want?" he asked bluntly. 

The stranger gave him a rather amused look. "Now, Michael--it is Michael you go by, isn't it?" Michael crossed his arms over his chest and didn't answer. "Really, Michael. Is this any way to treat your father?"  
  
  



	19. Chapter 19

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 19**_

For a moment, Michael just stood there, his mind grappling with what had just happened. He had to be dreaming, that was it. He was still asleep, caught up in some bizarre 'Luke, I am your father' _Star Wars_ mind trip. Only this guy looked nothing like Darth Vader. Besides, Max would be a better Luke Skywalker, what with the Jedi powers and stuff. That would make Isabel Princess Leia...Huh. There was no way he was gonna play Han Solo to her Leia, even in a dream. Maria would probably make some crack about his hair making him a better candidate for Chewbacca, anyway, so--Shut the fuck up. Here he was, freaking out like Maria, all because this guy just told him--Oh god. He hadn't actually heard that. Had he? 

"What?" he said hoarsely. 

"Come say hello to your father, boy." 

Yeah, that's what he thought he heard. What the hell was this, old home week? The way his long-lost relatives kept popping up, you'd think he won the lottery or something.... This was bullshit. "You're not my father. I don't have a father." 

"Oh, I beg to differ." The alien's voice grew colder. "Come here, boy," he ordered. 

Michael didn't so much as budge. "I don't think so. I don't know what you want, but you're not gonna get it. Get the hell out of this house." 

"But it's such a lovely house. And I've been made to feel so...welcome." 

"Welcome?" Amy burst out. "You broke in and held us at gunpoint!" 

"Yes, a fact you'd be wise to remember before you open your mouth again. I believe I already warned you once," the alien said, his tone remaining affable. How could he sound so friendly while making threats? 

Something was very wrong here. Other than the man with the gun. Without taking his eyes off the man before him, Michael said softly, "Maria. Mrs. DeLuca. Get out of here." 

They didn't even get the chance to stand up before the other alien spoke. "But they're so nice to have around. You certainly seemed to think so, the way you and the dream-girl were going at it the last time I saw you. So I think we'll keep them here. After all, nothing brightens up a dull room like a hostage or two. A _quiet_ hostage or two," he warned, then smiled. Michael noticed that the emotion never reached his blank eyes. "You may as well sit down. You can't protect them." 

The hell he couldn't. "I'm not gonna let you hurt them," Michael vowed. He didn't budge. 

"You can't stop me. In fact, standing in front of them isn't the brightest move, boy. All I have to do is shoot through you to get to them." 

Michael shrugged. "So shoot me." 

Behind him, Maria cried out his name, and Mrs. DeLuca sucked in her breath. But his challenge went unanswered. With narrowed eyes, he continued, "If you wanted me dead, you'd have killed me already. So what do you really want?" 

Instead of taking offense, the older alien actually seemed pleased by this response. "I knew you would be a delight!" he chortled. "Stubborn and willful...altogether amusing. What do I want? Why, you, of course. It's time to take your place at my side. The game begins." 

There was that game thing again, the one from the dream room. This guy was obsessed with it. And it was a sure bet he wasn't talking about Monopoly. "What game?" 

"A lovely little exercise I like to call 'Kill-a-King'. The name of the game is regicide, and you, my boy, are the prime contestant."  
  
  
*****  


"Can I get you anything else, sir?" Liz asked with a smile as she moved to the booth, pad in hand. 

"Another cherry cola would be great," Max said absently, his mind obviously elsewhere. 

"Certainly. Coming right up. Did you actually want to drink this one, or should I go ahead and pour in pre-melted ice?" 

Max shook off his abstraction. "Sorry, Liz. I'm just...I'm trying to figure things out, that's all." 

"I know." She looked around the café. "So where is everybody, anyway? I thought there were all supposed to be here by 4:30." 

For the first time that afternoon, a smile crept onto Max's lips. "Liz, it's only 4:28. They'll be here. Isabel took the Jeep and went home to make our excuses to Mom, and Maria's picking Alex up in the Jetta, right?" 

Liz nodded, privately wondering if Alex would be able to alleviate their best friend's current gloomy mood. She herself hadn't had any luck with it at school. If only Maria would tell her what was wrong; she _knew_ Maria, and this seemed like more than the current Michael-centric angst. 

"So they should get here soon. That just leaves Kyle and Tess." Max hesitated for a moment, then spoke again. "Liz, you know Kyle better than I do. Have you noticed anything...weird about him?" 

"Weird?" 

"The way he's been acting towards Tess." 

"You mean other than the fact that they suddenly seem joined at the hip?" 

Max nodded. 

"Why, Max? Jealous?" she said, shocked at her own outspokenness. After a summer apart, they'd begun to talk again over the fall, but she'd never been this blunt. How could she be? She'd been the one to pull away from him, not the other way around. 

Max met her question with total honesty. "No, I'm not jealous. I keep telling you I don't feel that way about her. I love you, Liz." He reached out and took her hand, still holding the order pad. "And someday you're going to have to accept that." 

Her eyes met his, and for a moment the rest of the world disappeared. There was no restaurant, no customers, nothing but the two of them, together. Then the bell over the door rang as new customers entered, and Liz came back to the Crashdown. Reddening, she pulled her hand away. 

The new customers weren't exactly customers after all; they were Kyle and Tess. Sliding into the booth opposite Max, Tess smiled cautiously at Liz. Kyle was a little less careful. 

"Hey, Liz. Max." Liz raised surprised eyebrows. This was the first time she'd ever heard Kyle refer to Max as just that, 'Max'. No last name, no sneering. Would wonders never cease? 

"Can I get you two anything?" she asked, and carefully wrote down the order for one Alien Smoothie and one iced tea. Bringing back the two beverages plus Max's cherry cola, she said, "I've got to get back to work. When everyone else gets here, I'll take a break, and we can talk in the back room." 

But forty-five minutes later, there was still no sign of Alex, Isabel or Maria.  
  
  
*****  


Michael paled. "You want me to...to...." He couldn't bring himself to say it. 

"Find the king and annihilate him. It's why you're here, what you've been...shall we say _programmed_ to do. And on top of everything else, it will be rather amusing." 

Michael's voice shook, just the slightest bit, as he protested, "I'm not gonna kill anybody!" His jaw clenched. 

A knowing smile graced the man's lips. "Whyever not? You've done it before." 

Through his shock, Michael heard a sudden intake of breath from behind him. Probably Mrs. DeLuca; Maria already knew of his shame. But how did the alien know? 

Bob nodded in satisfaction. "I certainly scored a hit with that one, didn't I? Though I believe I'll have to work on your squeamishness. The king is nearby, or was six months ago. I know you know him; the four of you would have had to be together to activate the signal. So he's nearby, even if I can't find him the way I found you." 

"Like...like you found me?" Michael had trouble getting the words out. 

"I followed you, boy. Every time you used your powers, I got closer, or so I thought. The joke was on me, though. Here I thought I was sensing you, and I was sensing this instead." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object. Holding it tantalizingly between two fingers, he swung it back and forth in front of Michael's eyes. 

Shit. The crystal he'd given Maria. "Where did you get that?" Michael snapped. 

"From your little friend. Quite a sentimental little thing, isn't she, wearing it around her neck." Tossing the small blue sphere into the air, he moved to catch it. Michael got there first, his hand shooting out to intercept it in mid-air. 

"That doesn't belong to you," he growled. 

"Well, I don't need it, do I? Not when I have you to carry out my wishes. You'll lead me to the king." 

"You don't have me! I am not gonna do what you want. I won't betray--" With a sudden realization, he cut off before he said Max's name. Slowly he continued, "You don't know who he is, do you? You didn't know who any of us were. If you did, you wouldn't have had to track me; you could've come straight to my door. And if you didn't know who your own...your own son was," he continued, stumbling over the phrase, "there's no way you'd be able to pick the king out of the billions of people on the planet." He could tell from the other alien's expression that he was right. Max was still safely hidden from him. And Michael wasn't about to give his best friend away. His jaw set firmly, he stated, "I won't do what you want. You're wasting your time." 

"I am your father, and you'll do what I say. You don't seem to realize that you have no choice." 

Michael frantically tried to keep a grip on his rising temper, in fear of totally losing it and ending up doing something that could put the DeLucas in an even more precarious position. But his rage continued to grow, gnawing at his stomach and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. How dare the other alien come in and threaten Maria and her mother? It was bad enough that he seemed to believe he could force Michael to destroy Max, but to involve the others--Mrs. DeLuca, who didn't even know anything about his otherworldly origins, and Maria, his Maria, who should never have been put in such danger. If he'd only listened to his gut and not his heart, he would never have gotten involved with her, and there wouldn't be an extraterrestrial maniac in her living room. If only he wasn't such a failure, if he had any sort of control over his powers, maybe he could do something about it, but as it was.... 

Wait. Maybe he still could. 

The one thing he'd always been good at, the one thing he'd been able to do when his powers actually worked, was to blow things up. Sure, it was usually when he was trying to do something else, and even this power had been maddeningly inconsistent over the last few months, but he'd managed to blow up that cactus last week, hadn't he? 

He couldn't go directly for the gun, though. Its explosion could seriously hurt someone, and he couldn't control its direction. But if he aimed for something else, maybe he could cause a diversion and distract the other alien, at least long enough for Maria and Mrs. DeLuca to get out. 

Mrs. DeLuca. Who didn't know who--or what--he was. Who would definitely find out if he used his powers in front of her. 

Well, so what if she did? She wasn't stupid, and she'd already be asking questions about the things she'd heard. The word 'alien' hadn't been used, but 'planet' had, and the word 'human'. The implications were pretty clear. If not human, then non-human. Inhuman? Unhuman? Whatever. The words didn't matter; the idea did. They were in Roswell, New Mexico--what was the logical guess? Unless Mrs. DeLuca was a fantasy buff who'd decide he was some kind of troll or fairy or something--not likely--it wasn't going to be much of a stretch for her to determine what he really was. Alien. 

His so-called father said he had no choice. But he did have one, and he made it. Shifting the crystal to his left hand, he let his right arm drop unobtrusively to his side. He couldn't let on what he was doing; he'd need the element of surprise. Eyes shifting, he took in the bookcase behind Bob. One shelf had a bunch of glass knick-knacky looking things and pictures instead of books. He'd aim for that, then. It should make a big enough crash to startle the alien, and maybe he could get a jump on him.... 

Balancing carefully on the balls of his feet, he tried to summon his powers. The energy built up, surprising him with its mass and force. He'd never felt it this tangibly before. His whole body buzzed. He let it build until he felt ready to burst from the pressure, then snapped his right arm out, fingers spread, to release the excess energy and send it shooting towards the bookcase. 

But even as he swung his arm up, a heavy object smashed into his left hand, and he staggered to the side. The power he'd been building vanished--not slowly dissipating, but blinking out of existence like it had never been there. 

Behind him, there was a moan as if someone was trying to stifle a cry for help. 

Dammit! Defiantly, Michael raised his chin and looked Bob straight in the eye. The other alien no longer seemed quite so affable. Truth to tell, he looked pretty pissed. Taking a step nearer to Michael, he kicked away the crystal that lay where Michael had dropped it, and shifted his grip on the gun. Michael suddenly realized that the powerful blow to his hand had come from the gun, used like a club rather than the projectile weapon it was. He surreptitiously wriggled his numb fingers, hoping that nothing was broken. 

Bob got right in his face. "I just told you I tracked you through the sphere. Are you so stupid you didn't realize I'd feel it when you used in right in front of me?" 

Ignoring the pain in his hand as best he could, Michael tried to understand what the alien was blathering on about. His puzzlement must have shown in his eyes, because Bob took a step backwards and gave a bark of laughter. 

"How did you end up so slow?" he exclaimed. "You're accessing the power you stored in the sphere and you don't even realize what you're doing?" 

"What?" Michael said dumbly. 

The other alien gave him a chiding look. "Hello? Round blue thing, sound familiar? The power sphere? Think of it as an alien battery cell. You can access the energy stored to increase the range of your powers." 

There was a muffled gasp, and Bob swung his head around to look at the two women who were huddled on the couch. The younger one shot him a look every bit as defiant as the one Michael had given him a few moments earlier; however, Amy DeLuca had a panicked look, and clutched her daughter tightly. 

"I'm sorry," Bob said snidely to the woman. "Perhaps a few introductions are in order. I'd like you to meet my son Michael. Your daughter's been dating a creature from outer space." 

Her eyes got even bigger, if possible, and flickered over to Michael, who was cradling his wounded hand against his chest. He hung his head; he didn't even try to meet her glance. 

"Mom," Maria begged. "Calm down. I'll explain all this later, I promise." 

"I don't want explanations later. I want them now," her mother said, her voice surprisingly firm. "Michael...is what this man says true? You are an...an alien?" 

He held perfectly still for a moment. He'd never actually told anyone. Max had told Liz, and she had told Maria and Alex; Sheriff Valenti had figured it out himself and had told Kyle. But Michael had never done it. He raised his eyes to Mrs. DeLuca's. "Yeah," he stated baldly. 

She stared at him for a moment, and he tried to school his expression. Then he turned his head, not wanting to see the fear and hate that would flood her face. Swallowing, he looked over towards Bob, who was watching him with a malicious smirk. 

"So if the crystal is a power cell," Michael began hoarsely, "why didn't you use it when you had it?" 

"It's attuned to you, not me. I can't use it. No one else can except you. To the rest of us it's just a big glass marble." 

Michael frowned. Bob had said he tracked the crystal, thinking Michael was using his powers. But Michael certainly hadn't used it--it had been in Maria's possession. How was she able to access power that supposedly only he was able to use? Because she must have done just that. How else could you explain her dreamwalking him, and being able to heal Isabel like she'd told him about? 

Dammit. He didn't want her any more involved than she already was. So he wouldn't point it out to Bob. And he certainly wasn't gonna tell the other alien that there were eleven more power crystals stashed in his apartment. He had to change the subject, and fast. 

"Too bad then," Michael drawled. "Because I'm not gonna help you out. You're on your own, buddy." 

"You don't seem to understand." Bob laughed then, a low mocking sound. "I'm your father, boy. I control you. And I believe it's time to begin your re-education." 

Faster than anyone could have imagined, his hand flickered out and clamped onto Michael's face. Michael reached up to throw him off, but couldn't; though his muscles strained against the other alien's arm, he was slowly forced to his knees. Nor could he protect himself from the connection that was forced upon him, brutally slicing into his mind and ripping away barriers he'd never known were there. A rush of images and sounds overwhelmed him, too fast for his brain to process. He managed to take one hastily-drawn breath. 

And then his mind split open.  
  
  



	20. Chapter 20

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 20**_

Impatiently, Isabel pulled the Jeep up in front of the Whitman house. It was just like Maria to cause all this bother, she thought, scowling, then shook her head. Actually, it wasn't like Maria at all. For all her surface flakiness, Maria usually went out of her way to help, not the other way around. Isabel was just so tied up in knots about the Michael situation that she wasn't even thinking straight. 

So Maria hadn't come by to pick Alex up, and hadn't answered the phone when he called. It was okay; he'd called the Evanses' house and caught Isabel on her way out the door. She was easily able to swing by his house and pick him up. Maria would meet them at the Crashdown, and things would be fine. 

They'd just be a little late, that's all. 

Evidently Alex had been watching from the window, because he loped out the front door and was climbing into the Jeep before Isabel even took the key out of the ignition. "Thanks for picking me up," he said. 

"No problem," Isabel responded with a smile. She watched as Alex fastened his seat belt. "So what happened with Maria, anyway?" 

"I'm not sure," Alex answered. "Maybe when she went to her mother's shop to borrow the car, Mrs. DeLuca needed her help or something. I don't know why she didn't call me about it," he added, his brow crinkling in thought. 

"She wasn't exactly herself today," Isabel pointed out as she pulled out from the curb. "She was actually..." Here she searched for the correct word, finally settling on "...quiet." 

"No, it's more than that," Alex said. "I've never seen her like this before. Heartbroken, yes. Royally ticked, yes. But not this...not this morose." He shook his head. "I hoped maybe she'd tell me what's wrong on the way to the Crashdown. But she didn't show." 

"Look on the bright side. This way, you get to ride with me," Isabel teased with a smile. "So what would you have done if I hadn't still been home?" 

"There's always my bike," riposted Alex. "And I do know how to walk." 

"Well, cheer up. Maybe you can talk to Maria after our meeting," suggested Isabel. "Speaking of which," she continued, "we're late. My cell phone's in my bag; why don't you call the Crashdown and let them know we're on the way?" 

Obligingly, Alex reached down for the bag and began rummaging through it for the phone. "I'm kind of disappointed. You have the same girlie things in here that Liz and Maria cart around with them. I at least expected a ray gun or something," he quipped. 

Isabel couldn't help but smile. "I'll bet you did." She saw out of the corner of her eye that he'd found her phone. He turned it on and glanced down at the LCD display. 

"You've got a message," he told her. "Maybe we're meeting someplace else." 

"It must have come when I was in the house," Isabel said absently. "I left my bag in the Jeep." She took the phone and punched in the code to access her voice mail. Lifting the phone to her ear, she listened as she drove. A moment later Alex pitched violently to the side as she dropped the phone and made a sudden hard left turn. Thank god he'd fastened his seat belt; he could have fallen out of the vehicle. She didn't even have the top up. 

"What's going on?" Alex asked, alarmed. 

When she answered, her voice was as grim as her mood. "That was Michael. There's an alien at Maria's. She needs help."  
  
  
*****  


For one interminable moment, Maria watched in horror as Bob forced Michael to his knees. She couldn't see Michael's face, only his bowed shoulders and back; she wasn't sure what was happening to him, but she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

Michael seemed frozen in place, and Maria echoed his stillness without really realizing what she was doing. All she knew was that she couldn't seem to move, although she suspected it was due to fear and panic and not directly to whatever the alien was doing to Michael. 

After what seemed like forever but in reality was probably only a few seconds, the encroaching hand was withdrawn, and Michael collapsed forward, catching himself on unsteady hands. 

An odd smell filled the air, rather like the time Maria had left the teakettle on the stove too long and the bottom had burned through. Smoky with a metallic tang. 

Suddenly able to move again, she leapt to her feet, only to find the gun pointed straight at her face, mere inches away. Once again fear froze her in place, only faintly aware of Amy's clutching hands trying to pull her back away from the deadly weapon. Or maybe away from Michael. 

Gesturing for her to sit back down, Bob brushed aside her concern. "He'll be fine. He doesn't need you," he told her. 

Fine? She didn't buy it. She wouldn't until she heard it from Michael himself. "Michael?" she cried out, forcing the word through the lump in her throat. 

For one horrible moment, she wasn't sure if he was even breathing; then she heard a choking sound as he sucked in a lungful of air. She held her own breath, as if only one of them could breathe at a time. Finally his harsh gulping of air faded, becoming merely a faint murmur of sound, and she realized the sound carried words on it, barely loud enough to be heard. "Oh god," he muttered brokenly, over and over. "Oh god...oh god...oh god...." 

Tears ran unchecked down Maria's cheeks. Her whole being strained with the need to rush to his side. But she didn't move. She couldn't; the gun was still aimed at her. Instead, Michael's father did. 

Reaching out with his free hand, he grabbed the back of Michael's jacket and yanked roughly upwards, giving a little shake as he did so. His voice was harsh. "Up now, boy. Shake it off." 

Somehow through his daze, Michael managed to hear. With an obvious effort, he pushed himself to his feet and stood there, swaying slightly. From the back, he didn't look any different, not really; but Maria could sense something off about him. He seemed smaller somehow, beaten down by whatever he'd just experienced. There was something of the helpless child about his bearing; at that moment he bore very little resemblance to the cocky and rebellious Michael she'd grown to love. "What did you do to him?" she demanded. 

"Just opened his eyes up to who and what he is. Necessary preparation for what lies ahead." 

"If you hurt him, I swear I'll--" she began, only to be cut off by her mother. 

"Maria." Just her name, spoken softly. But it was enough to stop the ineffectual tirade she was on the brink of delivering. Taking a deep breath, she reached up and wiped her tear-dampened cheeks with the palm of her hand. Her mother was right. It was stupid to make threats--even empty ones--to a crazy gun-wielding alien. She needed to be smarter than that, to help get Michael away from his so-called father. Not to mention freeing her mother and herself, too. But first, for her heart's sake, she had to know if Michael was all right. 

"Please," she said, forcing a conciliatory expression onto her face. "Just let me make sure he's okay." 

"He doesn't need to be babied. He'll live through this, and be stronger for it." 

Maria glanced over at the spiky-haired alien. He hadn't spoken one word or turned since he'd gotten to his feet. She wasn't even sure if he was really there any more. What if he'd locked himself inside his own head again? Fighting a rising tide of panic, she begged, "_Please_." 

"Oh, very well," the older alien said rather petulantly. "But don't try anything stupid now, hear me? I'll be aiming this lovely pistol at your mother, and we wouldn't want it to go off accidentally, now would we?" 

Well, of course not. No bullet holes in her loved ones today, thank you very much. She shook her head in agreement and then took a few hesitant steps toward Michael, all the while under Bob's watchful eye. 

"Michael?" she said as she neared him. She reached out, but stopped her hand scant inches from his back. She was almost afraid of what she would find. 

He didn't respond. 

Again she said his name, louder this time, putting all her strength into willing him to be all right. Still no response from Michael, although the other alien looked like he was perversely enjoying her worry. A note of panic burst through her rapidly fading self-control, and her voice wavered as she cried softly, "Spaceboy?" 

That seemed to get through to him. He made a slight movement of rejection--not of her, but of what he'd been through. She could tell he was glancing wildly around, disoriented. Had he forgotten what was happening? Had the other alien somehow wiped his brain of who he was? Stepping forward again, she placed a trembling hand on his back. 

"Michael?" 

Without warning, he spun around, his arm thrusting defensively towards her, fingers spread. Startled, she stumbled backwards, only partially aware of Bob's mocking laugh. Then she saw Michael, really saw him, and let out a hiss of dismay. 

His brown eyes were filled with confusion and pain. He looked at her like he'd never seen her before, never fought sometimes pitched and sometimes only pretend battles with her. Never held her, kissed her, touched her. Loved her. 

And, just as bad--or was it worse?--on his right cheek, seared into the angry flesh, was an oddly-shaped mark. It reminded her of the alien symbol on the necklace Isabel had found at Atherton's dome, but it wasn't the same. And it had been burned into his skin. By his father's own hand. Maria felt sick. 

After a moment, Michael seemed to lose some of his disorientation. He started to shake his head, but stopped at the first motion. The blistering on his cheek must have been hurting, because he became very still. At least a spark of recognition finally worked its way back into his blank eyes. 

His mouth worked, but it took a few attempts for him to get her name out. "Ma...Maria?" 

She could do nothing but stare, shocked speechless. The recognition in his expression seemed to grow, and she could almost see him remembering, realizing. A terrible knowledge shone through his eyes and his jaw grew tense. He evidently didn't like what he saw on her face, either. 

"What?" he ground out. She gaped at him, not sure how to begin. "_What?_" 

Her hand flew to her own cheek. "Your...your face," she whispered. But even as she watched, the angry red faded and the sigil darkened to black, looking less like a burn and more like an ebony tattoo. 

His hand came up, but seemed to sense no difference in his skin. Glowering at her, he waited for her to explain. The explanation, however, came from his father. 

"He's marked. So all who see him know who he is." 

"Oh, that's just great," Maria snapped, losing all sense of self-preservation. "Why didn't you just rent a billboard and put his picture on it? 'Michael Guerin is an alien.' That's a great slogan." 

"He will hardly have to worry about being found out now. He can protect himself from you feeble humans now that he finally knows who he is, and what he's capable of," Bob sneered. 

"I don't care what he's _capable_ of, he's not going to do what you want!" Maria shouted back. "Tell him, Michael!" 

For a moment his eyes burned into hers, almost seeking something. What, she had no idea. But she gave a fierce nod. Whatever he had to do, she'd support him. 

But it was Maria who needed the support a moment later. At least physically. Because her knees buckled under her when she heard Michael say coolly to the other alien, "I got a job to do, right? So let's get outta here so I can do it."  
  
  
*****  


"So are we waiting for the others, or are we going ahead with it?" Kyle asked bluntly. 

Max and Liz looked across her rooftop patio at each other. Max hoped his face didn't show reluctance as strongly as Liz's did, but dammit, he was worried. It wasn't like Alex, Isabel or Maria to be this late. They'd tried to track their missing friends down by phone, with little success; Mrs. Evans told Tess that Isabel had left some time ago and Mrs. Whitman told Liz that Alex had been picked up by a blonde girl in a Jeep. And there had been no answer at either Maria's house or her mother's shop. Kyle had called the Sheriff's office and spoken to his father, but no auto accidents involving a Jeep or a Jetta had been reported that afternoon. 

The three were now over an hour and a half late. Not that long in the human scheme of things, but extremely distressing when the Royal Four's alien enemies were taken into consideration. So Liz, Max, Tess and Kyle had moved up to the patio outside Liz's bedroom window to decide what to do. 

"We'll be short-handed if we try to do this ourselves," Tess pointed out from her perch on the low ledge that ringed the patio. "We need more people to keep an eye out for Nasedo. I'm not sure where he went, and we don't know how long he'll be gone." 

"I only wish he'd agreed to meet with me again," Max said with a sigh. "If I could have gotten him out of the way, we wouldn't have to worry so much about being caught." 

Liz smiled reassuringly at Max, and Tess shook her head. "It's not your fault, Max," the blonde alien said. "Nasedo's not stupid. You've already had one meeting with him, and he came back to find someone had tried to break into his hidden room." 

"He knows?" Max asked, alarmed. Isabel had assured him that the handprint she'd left on the wall had been covered up; he'd hoped that it would remain hidden longer than this. 

"He hasn't said anything, but he's not stupid," Tess repeated. "I don't think he would have missed that the painting was hanging lower than before. He would have found the handprint. He's got to know that at least one of us was snooping around." 

"Then we need to try again, before he has a chance to move whatever it is," Liz said determinedly. "If he hasn't moved it already." 

Max shook his head in disagreement, mentally apologizing to Michael for postponing the alien artifact hunt. "We need to find Isabel, Maria and Alex first," he objected. "They're more important than whatever Nasedo's got hidden. We need to make sure they're all right before we do anything else." 

Liz gripped her hands together tightly. "Do you think I'm not worried about them?" she asked softly. "Do you think I don't care that my two best friends and your sister are missing? Well, I do. But I also care about the fact that another friend--your best friend--is in trouble, and whatever is in that secret room may help him. And if we wait too long, we may lose any chance of ever finding out what it is." Her voice grew louder and more intense. "If Maria were here, she would be the first to say it, but she's not. So I will. I'm doing what my best friend would want. I am going to Tess's house, I am going to get into that room and then get out of there so I can go find them!" 

The other three stared at her silently for a moment; finally Kyle pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against. "Okay, then. Let's get going." 

Without a word, Tess showed her support for the idea by moving over towards the metal fire ladder and clambering nimbly down it. Liz looked over at Max. 

"Well?" she challenged, her eyebrows raised. 

"Thank you," he answered softly. 

Her nose wrinkled up. "What for?" 

"For wanting to help Michael." 

"Why wouldn't I?" She looked at him, her face intent. "I'm not doing it for you, you know. And not even for Maria. Not because he's anyone's best friend or boyfriend. I'm doing it because he's _my_ friend. And he would do the same for me." 

Max nodded. "I know. Thanks." Their eyes met, searching. Questioning. 

From the fire ladder, Kyle drawled, "I hate to break up such a touching moment, but the sooner we get in, the sooner we get out." 

"Right." Liz nodded briskly and headed towards the ladder. "So do you have it?" 

"Yeah, it's in the trunk," said Kyle with a fierce grin. "This is gonna be fun."  
  
  
*****  


Michael shifted warily from foot to foot. His statement hadn't had quite the effect he'd wanted. He was trying to ignore Maria's reaction, afraid to let himself become distracted by it. He couldn't help but be worried, though. She couldn't really believe he'd take any part in hurting Max, could she? She knew him better than that. Didn't she? No, he had to forget her and concentrate on convincing Bob. 

Who didn't seem to be buying it. 

Michael knew he probably wasn't thinking straight. Hell, after the last few months he should be used to that by now. But he was having trouble focusing--it was as if he'd always been blind, and suddenly had his vision restored. He could see clearly, but his brain couldn't handle all the input. Only what was overloading his brain was nothing as innocent as mere sight. It was dark and bloodthirsty, screaming out for violence. Death. Max, lying in a bloody heap, racked with pain as he drew in his last breath. Staring into Michael's eyes, the eyes of his executioner. A thousand broken bodies piled haphazardly around a cairn of dark gray stone, rotting. The stench of decay-- 

_No!_

He had to hold it together. Had to focus. Somehow he had to keep control. Not let his desperation overwhelm him. The images were just in his head. They were three-dimensional and came equipped with scent and sound, but they weren't real. Max wasn't dead, and there weren't corpses littering the ground. He was at the DeLucas', with Maria and her mother and the alien. The other things weren't real. They were implanted pictures; they couldn't even be memories of the past life. Because if they were, Max wouldn't look like Max, right? He'd be bug-eyed and bald and have tentacles or something. The traditional alien image, how Maria had probably pictured them when she'd first found out. Because he'd bet she had. 

Besides, one image that kept flashing in front of him was the one from his dream, when Bob had tried to get a head start on getting him ready for all this. The other alien had projected an image then, and Michael had made Maria wake up so she wouldn't see it. And he kept seeing it now. It hadn't been a monster or anything like that. Or maybe it had. What he'd seen, what had terrified him, had been himself. Michael Guerin, with blood on his hands and glory in his eyes.... 

His head hurt. 

Whatever Bob had done to him, that was causing this. It wasn't real, it wasn't. It wasn't. 

He had to focus. Had to keep it together. He was doing his best. He really was. 

But he could almost feel it, circling through his veins, permeating each breath, infecting every cell. The miasma of death. Butchery. The slaughter of innocents, of the guilty, of...of the king. Of Max. 

_No, goddammit!_

He hadn't been like this before, when he'd been second-in-command. At least he didn't think so. Someone had fucked him up, in the time between that former existence and this one. Someone had damaged him, put this need into him, this desire. Made him into their tool. 

Was this where all his rage had been coming from? The anger that had made him slaughter Pierce, the time he'd almost choked that guy--what was his name, Kenny? Kevin? Something like that--for making that crack about Maria, the nastiness he'd discovered inside himself when he was starting the whole 'keep away from the others' fight in the school parking lot...was it all a part of him? Had it been part of him all along, just waiting to be wakened? Leaking out in bits and pieces, coloring his actions? A sort of dark side? 

Who was Darth Vader now? 

He was struggling with it, the fear for Maria and his own self-loathing and the sudden physical and emotional pain he was experiencing. It all welled up, looming over him, almost tangible. He had to get out of here, away from Maria and her mother, before it overwhelmed him completely. And he had to take the other alien with him. To keep everyone safe. 

Before the monster inside him burst loose. 

The things he was capable of.... They were horrifying. Violent. 

And part of him--some small part, that had been closed off until Bob had unblocked the hidden cancer in his mind--some part of him welcomed it, relished it. Delighted in it. 

He had to get the hell out of here. 

So why wasn't the other alien cooperating? Did he think his little mind-tripping connection hadn't worked? Well, it hadn't, not all the way, but Michael was damned if he'd tell Bob that. Could Bob somehow see into his mind, sense what his real plan was? 

Not to go and kill Max. He'd die first. 

Max. If his best friend were there, he'd be the first to call it a true Michael plan. Rash and unthinking. Based too strongly on the need for swift action, and damn the consequences. 

But Max had no idea what was really going on. He didn't know Michael, not really. He had no idea just how fucked up Michael really was. How could he? Michael himself hadn't known. 

Rash or not, it was a plan. And Michael would carry it out, if Bob would just get off his ass and believe him already. Maybe he should have paid more attention to Maria when she'd talked about acting, because Bob sure didn't seem to be buying into his newly-found gung-ho 'get the job done' attitude. 

He had to make the other alien believe. 

He had to stop him, no matter the cost. And he had an idea of how to do it. His diversionary plot hadn't worked before, but this could. He wouldn't accidentally rev up any power-cell crystals now; he didn't even know where Maria's had gone. He'd have to rely on his own shaky powers, and pray to high heaven that they actually worked. 

He'd get Bob into a car--he'd hijack the Jetta if he had to--and drive out of town, somewhere away from people. Then he'd focus all his powers into one last burst and detonate the gas tank. The resulting blast should be enough to destroy the car and everything--everyone--in it. 

For a moment, it almost seemed funny. All those people who'd never thought he could amount to anything, never do anything right--they'd continue on in their insulated little lives, because of him. He'd be a fucking hero. 

And nobody, not on this planet or his home planet, would ever realize it. 

Because they had no idea of the fate that lay in store for them if his father got his way. 

He had to do it. He had to take Bob out, and himself with him, before either of them could hurt anybody. 

He swallowed, feeling suddenly nauseated. The sickening knowledge of what he was about to do battled with a fierce need for violence. Hell, he'd already killed once; what was a little patricide-suicide on top of that?  
  
  



	21. Chapter 21

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 21**_

"Uh uh uh," came a mocking voice from beside him. "A little something you evidently don't know about, boy. Where we come from, blood is very strong. Family connections and all. Get me near enough and I can read you." 

If Michael had been moving, he would have stopped dead in his tracks. "You can _what?_" The words burst out of him before he made a conscious decision to speak. 

"Read you. See inside your mind, know what you're thinking. We have a bond, boy. Your human side corrupts it, but it's there. Not as strong as the sib-bond or pair-bond, but a connection nonetheless. How do you think I was able to find you?" 

"You...you said you'd followed the power-cell crystal," Michael blurted. Meanwhile his mind was trying to make sense of the unfamiliar. Sib-bond? Pair-bond? What the hell? 

"Only as a beacon of sorts. It was still you I was focused on, a certain familiar resonance. The crystal enhanced that connection; it didn't create it." Michael's confusion must have been very clear; Bob cocked his head mockingly. "You don't remember a darn thing about our planet, do you?" 

Refusing to give him any satisfaction, Michael gave an insolent shrug. The other alien narrowed his eyes. 

"Just remember this: you can't hide anything from me. Any time I want to, I can see what's going on in that thick head of yours." A knowing smirk appeared on Bob's face. "In fact, while I was rummaging around, trying to jump-start your more useful instincts, I saw exactly what you were thinking. I know all about your ridiculous little scheme to get rid of me. Really, boy, now what kind of father would I be to allow you to play the martyr? I'm afraid that wouldn't do at all." 

He knew? Fuck. Wasn't one stupid plan of his _ever_ going to work? 

Michael tensed as Bob turned to the DeLucas, but the other alien didn't seem to be threatening them at this particular moment; instead he addressed them in a wry tone. "My rather backward descendant has decided to steal your car and blow it up with the two of us inside it, thereby saving this world from the evil aliens," he added with a mock shudder. "Such a selfless and heroic act, don't you think? One for the annals. But then, it runs in his family, doesn't it?" 

His family? Michael pounced on that statement. "What do you mean?" he demanded roughly. Surely there was someone a little more...sane...in his family, somebody other than a maniacal father and a dead sister. What about other brothers and sisters? And what about a mother? Unless his species reproduced in some weird way, he had to have a mother, right? Someone who would feel about him the way Mrs. DeLuca felt about Maria-- 

Maria. He was letting himself be distracted from the situation at hand. Her safety, and her mother's, was more important right now.... Shaking off his hunger to know more, he crossed his arms over his chest and moved back to his position in front of the two women. He wouldn't let himself get distracted again. 

Bob didn't seem altogether pleased with this showing. "History lessons later," he countered. His voice grew colder. "I'm disappointed in you, boy. You should have come further than this by now." 

Huh. For once his lack of achievement did him some good, if only to piss Bob off. Too bad it didn't keep the other alien from reading his thoughts. If only it had, his plan might've gone undiscovered. They'd be out of there by now, and Maria and Mrs. DeLuca would be safe. But they weren't, because he couldn't keep Bob out of his brain. Dammit! Where were his stone walls when he needed them? 

Wait a minute. 

His stone walls were never real--at least not in the physical sense. They were just a front he put up to keep himself from caring too much, to distance himself from being too human. From letting people in. Sure, he'd fooled people with them--even himself. But there were no bricks and mortar, nothing tangible. 

But even though they weren't real, they were pretty effective. They'd lasted a good ten years before Maria started worming her way through the cracks. Mental walls, but they worked. And then there was another wall, the one he'd created in his mind. He'd accidentally imprisoned himself behind it, unable to deal with the dreams and voices he'd been hearing. He'd gotten stuck there--or at least part of him had--and he couldn't get out, even though he'd created it in the first place. 

So if he could create a mental wall he couldn't get through, maybe he could create one no one else could get through, either. Maybe he could keep Bob out. 

Except he had no idea how to do it. He hadn't done it on purpose the first time. Plus, giant plant puppets aside, he'd never been very good at building things. And those were due to physical effort, not mental. He was better at destruction than construction. 

He had nothing to lose by trying, though. Maybe he could fake himself into doing it. Do some New Age visualization thing and hope that it worked. Imagine the wall, see the wall...be the wall...build the wall. Crap like that. But if he could bring himself to believe in it, maybe it would be real. Or real enough. 

If he believed in it. He, who'd never willingly believed in anything. Yeah. This was really gonna work. 

Closing his eyes, he pictured his empty hands, held palm-up in front of him. Big and clumsy, lacking the grace of Isabel's and Max's tapered fingers. Just his hands. Ordinary looking, even with the two silver bands he wore. But hands that had held a paintbrush, a pencil, and interpreted the pictures in his head into something real. Hands that had held Maria. 

Hands that had taken a life, and by doing so, had saved one. 

Hands that just might be able to accomplish something else, right here; that might help him save two more. 

Okay. Time to stop fixating on what his hands could or couldn't do, and build the damn wall already. He just needed something to build it from, the stone of his imaginary stone wall. And suddenly something was in his hands, rough and solid. He looked down but couldn't see anything on his outstretched palms, even though he could feel its heft and texture. Well, it was an imaginary stone. Why be surprised he couldn't see it? But still, he felt stupid as he imagined bending down and placing the invisible stone or block or brick, or whatever it was, on the ground. Ground that was no longer the colorful rug from Mrs. DeLuca's living room, but flat and gray, stretching out endlessly in all directions. And as it touched the floor, the stone became as solid to the eye as it was to the touch. 

He pictured a second, similar stone then, stacked upon the first. And there it was, growing visible; edges blurring, melting together to become one, solid. Then a third, fusing itself to the other two, then another, and another.... In his imagination, the wall rose quickly, reaching into the sky far above his head, spreading out to surround him. And as stone melded with stone, the wall took on a metallic sheen. Not quite the same as the circular room he'd imprisoned himself in, but similar somehow. 

As the two ends of the wall began curving together to meet, Michael was relieved that the final few stones stayed separate, their edges still clear. The last time he'd been in something like this, he couldn't get himself out. So this time he had an escape route, just in case. A few unmelded stones as a fail-safe. If he got stuck inside, maybe Maria would be able to get him out. She'd always been the only one who could do anything with those stone walls of his anyway; hopefully this one would be no different. 

If only it worked. It wasn't like there was going to be an actual, physical wall around him or anything. He wouldn't necessarily be able to tell if his efforts had paid off. He could only hope. 

Opening his eyes, Michael found that creating his imaginary wall had only taken a second or two; Bob was still scolding. He looked at Michael, taking in his grim expression with superiority. "Obviously we'll have to do a little more work to prepare you. Work that can be better done elsewhere." 

Michael's heart lurched in his chest. Was he going to be able to get Bob away after all? 

A moment later his momentary hope plummeted as Bob continued, "But since you're still not ready to jump right into the game, I believe we'll take a little insurance with us. Something you value, to make sure you follow my rules. Something...important to you. Now what could that be?" He smiled cruelly and turned his head to glance in Maria's direction. "I know! How about your little girlfriend here? Can't blow up the car if the girl you love is in it, now can you?"  
  
  
*****  


"Well?" Isabel cried impatiently as Alex hit the button to turn off the cell phone. "What happened?" 

"They weren't there," Alex said tersely. "No answer at Liz's house or her cell phone, and Agnes answered at the Crashdown. She said they'd left the dining room already, but she didn't know where they went. She wouldn't even go check upstairs for me--said she was going on a cigarette break." 

"Great. That settles it--I'm getting Max a cell phone of his own for Christmas," Isabel burst out. She threw on the turn signal and screeched around a corner without applying the least bit of pressure on the Jeep's brakes. An oncoming sedan swerved out of their way with a blast of its horn. Dropping the cell phone, Alex gripped the edge of his seat with both hands and glanced worriedly over at the alien. It wasn't going to do Maria any good if they couldn't even make it to her house in one piece.  
  
  
*****  


"No!" Michael shouted. He couldn't let his father use Maria as a pawn. She had to be out of this, safe.... His mind was still scrambling for a plan when he heard himself say coolly, "Besides, I don't love her. Never did." 

No one in the room was more shocked by this than Michael himself. He blinked once or twice as his brain translated what his mouth had just said. Didn't love Maria? Right. Well, maybe it would get Bob to forget about taking her along as a hostage. 

Unfortunately, the other alien didn't seem to believe him. Nor did Maria, who let out a horrified "Michael!" in protest. 

So much for that idea. Unless he could convince Bob.... He forced himself to turn to the girl he loved. "Sorry, Princess. You were a good time, you know? But that's all it was." He avoided her eyes, afraid his glance would give him away, but his whole body tensed. Fervently he hoped she'd catch on to what he was doing. And not believe it. She would know better, wouldn't she? Even with his being the complete asshole lately? 

"How noble. Lying to protect her," drawled his father. 

Dammit. The one person he _wanted_ to convince, he couldn't. He was going to have to go for the jugular, even if it would chalk up yet another offense he could only hope Maria would forgive him for. Managing a careless shrug, he said, "Hey, a guy'll say anything to get laid, you know? Not my fault if she believes it. But to actually care about someone like her? Come on, I have better taste." 

Finally daring to look in her eyes, he took in her shock; a moment later, tears rolled down her cheeks, and his heart clenched. "How can you say that, Mike? I thought we meant something to each other!" she wailed. 

Mike. She'd called him Mike again. She knew what he was doing. He'd thank god if he believed in one. Swallowing his relief, he gave an indifferent shrug. "Nope. Sorry," he said, careful not to sound the least bit regretful. 

In a flash, Maria was directly in front of him, looking absolutely furious through her tears. Without a word, she hauled off and swung at him, her palm landing on his cheek--the unmarked one--with a resounding _crack!_ The surprise had Michael stumbling back a step; then he recovered and grabbed her by the upper arms. Strangely enough, the blow she'd delivered didn't really hurt. Either he was becoming impervious to physical pain--not likely, the way his head ached--or she'd given him a stage slap. She must've learned enough stage combat during play rehearsals to pull the punch without lessening the noise. 

That evidently wasn't all she'd learned, either, because without warning, she let out a startled squawk and lost her balance, stumbling over her own feet as she was propelled backwards. Caught off guard, Michael didn't have time to steady her; his own arms went with her, stretching out to their fullest length until she slipped from his grasp. Scrambling awkwardly backward, she landed on the couch and into her mother's embrace. She buried her head into her mother's shoulder and sobbed; even as she comforted her daughter, the older woman shot Michael a venomous look. Ouch. But he couldn't blame her. If he hadn't known better, he would've sworn he'd just shoved Maria away from him. 

But he hadn't. Maria had been in control the whole time. She was pretty damn good at it, too. Her mother had certainly bought the act. 

Well, at least it had convinced _somebody_. Now if it had only convinced Bob.... 

Michael ran a hand through his hair, trying to look disgusted and maybe a little bored with the situation, and turned to glance at the other alien. For a moment, it seemed as if the little charade had worked; then Bob's mouth pursed and he stared, eyes widening slightly, at the boy in front of him. On Michael's right cheek, the tattooed symbol began to throb. 

What the--was Bob trying to read him? Would his mental wall hold? Michael sucked in his breath and tried to look casual. If Bob was able to read him, he'd see that the little scene with Maria was fake. And Michael was pretty sure he wouldn't be quiet about it. 

The smallest look of confusion crossed the other alien's face, and he shook his head. Michael's heart began to pound. Was his wall actually working? Had he actually done something right for once? 

With a quickly growing, very unaccustomed sense of triumph, he realized he had. He'd kept Bob out. Finally, a tool he could use. 

Now to finish it and get Bob out of there. He'd give the alien something else to believe--that Michael didn't care about Maria, other than for her body, because he was involved with someone else. Someone the other alien might be more willing to accept. Even as Bob shook off his doubts and stared intently at Michael for a second time, the teenager reached back into the recesses of his mind and summoned up the memory of the Tess-induced dreams he'd shared with Isabel, where they were together. Isabel and Michael on a rocky slope. Together in all senses of the word. The two of them, smiling, lighthearted...and a child. A child with brown eyes and tousled hair. A feeling of satisfaction and joy. He let the images filter through the mental wall he'd built. 

He hadn't lied when he'd told Isabel he'd never been as happy as he'd been in that dream. If only it was enough to convince Bob.... 

A pleased look crossed the other alien's face. "So, the little dream-girl here isn't the only one you choose to dally with. The other one--who is she?" 

"Just a girl," Michael bit out. He wasn't about to add fuel to the fire by mentioning that the girl in question was not only another alien, but the sister of the king Bob was so bent on destroying. "A little more worthwhile, wouldn't you say?" 

"You certainly seem to think so. Well, if this one isn't going to be a worthwhile hostage, there's no point in bringing her along, is there?" 

Michael's stomach unclenched so suddenly that he felt woozy for a moment. "Not really," he said coolly. But inside, he was feeling an unfamiliar swell of jubilation. Maria was going to be safe. It had worked. 

Oh, goddammit all to hell! Bob had raised the gun once more, and was aiming it right at the girl's head. She began to shake. Michael had the distinct notion that she wasn't acting any more. 

"Don't!" he cried out. 

"We certainly can't leave them here, and they're too much of a bother to bring along," Bob pointed out in a reasonable tone. 

Michael frantically racked his brain. "Mrs. DeLuca," he heard himself saying, "She's good friends with the Sheriff, and he knows about me and Maria. We hurt them--either of them--and he's gonna be suspicious." Actually, this was beginning to make sense to him. "Not to mention pissed off," he continued. "You want time to work on me, you don't need people running around getting in our way," he finished in a rush. 

Tilting his head to one side, Bob seemed to consider this. "So what do you propose, instead?" he asked. 

A test. And Michael had never been particularly good at tests. "Put 'em in a closet or something," he said, trying to conceal his desperation. Unfortunately, Bob didn't seem completely satisfied with this response. "Look," Michael said bluntly, "Leave them alone, and I'll go with you. Hurt them, and I'll fight you every inch of the way." 

This seemed to amuse the other alien. "I believe you would, too," he mused. 

"Besides," Michael added, "if they go and tell anybody about some alien takeover plot, who's gonna believe 'em, anyway? Only a bunch of UFO nuts nobody takes seriously. I mean, Mrs. DeLuca makes a living off of plastic aliens and New Age astrology crap. Everyone in town knows she's a real flake, just like her daughter." He looked at Bob, trying to keep an open expression on his face. 

Finally, the other alien nodded. "And if I do this thing for you, you'll come without an argument?" 

"Yeah." Michael hesitated for a moment, then added, "I'm not agreeing to help you, though. I'm still not gonna kill anybody." 

Luckily this statement didn't have much of an effect on Bob. "I'm not worried about that. Given enough time, I can make you see things my way." He studied the two women. "I think we'll tie them up, though. Damsels in distress--such a nice clichT, don't you think?" 

Michael didn't dare protest. "Whatever." 

"Well then, don't just stand there. Go and find something to tie them up with." Bob's voice grew a little harder. "And I'd hurry, if I were you. You wouldn't want me to get bored and start target practice, would you?" 

Michael looked at him for one moment, then bolted from the room. Within a matter of minutes he was back, an assortment of scarves, a belt, and the cord from the curtains in Maria's room in his hands. Gesturing with the gun, Bob followed the two women into the kitchen and sat them on the wooden chairs, then told Michael to bind and gag them. 

Trying not to think about what he was doing, Michael knelt by Maria's side and began to tie her to the chair. After he finished her hands and feet, he looked up at her face. The tears had stopped, leaving tracks on her cheeks. He looked deeply into her green eyes for one fleeting second; her lips soundlessly shaped his name. His jaw tightened. With trembling fingers, he gagged her and rose. 

"Do I need to check your knots?" asked Bob snidely. So he didn't trust Michael. It didn't matter though; Michael had tied the girl as firmly as he could without hurting her. The knots would stand up to Bob's scrutiny. 

"Go right ahead," he answered calmly as he moved to Mrs. DeLuca and knelt by her chair. The woman shrank away from him. He couldn't blame her. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he muttered as he fastened her feet to the bottom rung of the chair. Moving around behind her, he fumbled for a moment with the curtain cord, then securely bound her wrists with it. His own hands lingered by the knot for just a moment; then he moved back around the chair. She watched him with wide eyes as he gagged her. 

Finished, he straightened up and looked over at Bob. The gun was now pointed straight at him. He didn't even care, not as long as the others were safe, but he said, "You don't need that. I said I'd go with you, didn't I?" 

A satisfied smirk crossed Bob's face. "So you did." 

"We need their car?" Michael asked diffidently. Maybe if they took the Jetta, he could drive too fast and blow the engine like he did when he'd abducted Maria to Marathon. It might give him the chance to get away from the other alien.... 

But it wasn't to be. "No, I've managed to acquire a conveyance of my own," Bob answered. "Shall we then?" He tucked the gun away at the small of his back and gestured for Michael to precede him from the room. 

Without a word, and without a backwards glance, Michael crossed through the living room to the front door. Throwing the deadbolt, he turned the handle and swung the door open... 

...to find a very tense Isabel Evans, hand raised to knock.  
  
  



	22. Chapter 22

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 22**_

The street was fairly quiet as the red convertible pulled to the curb not far from Tess's house. It was a newer, family-oriented neighborhood, and most of the residents were inside having a family dinner or some such thing. Rows of houses containing rows of families playing rows of Monopoly games, Tess thought cynically. Well, she had her own family to worry about. 

Kyle turned the key in the ignition, and the engine stopped without so much as a sputter, but he didn't move to get out of the car. With the top up, Tess, who was sitting in the back seat, couldn't get out until he did. 

Somehow--she wasn't sure just how--she and Liz had ended up in the back with Max and Kyle in front. If she asked about it, Kyle would probably spout off something about the two girls being smaller, so they'd fit in the back better. She didn't buy that, though. She suspected it had something to do with an ineffable link between males and cars. 

So Max sat beside Kyle, and Tess sat beside Liz. It was an odd foursome, if you stopped to consider. Before Tess came to town, Max had dated Liz, and before that, Liz had dated Kyle. Tess and Max were destined mates. Kyle had tried to go out with Tess before he found out about the whole 'alien conspiracy', as he called it. And over the last few days Tess had found it very easy to hang out with him. She felt comfortable with him in a strange way, one she wasn't used to. The feeling he gave off was different. It wasn't mistrust or dislike, feelings that she'd gotten from the other members of the group. Unfortunately it wasn't enough to break the mood between the four of them, and she wished Isabel, or even Alex, were there to break up some of the unspoken tension. 

Tension mostly between Kyle and Max, and Liz and Tess. Tension that Tess rather regretted. If Liz hadn't attached herself so firmly to Tess's destined husband (and, Tess had to admit, he to her), Tess might have even grown to appreciate the human instead of resenting her. Things would be going so much more smoothly if they didn't have their mix-and-match histories hanging over them. They made an odd foursome, and she said as much. 

"We _have_ tried about every combination," Kyle commented dryly as he caught her eye in the rearview mirror. "Tell you what I'm looking forward to, though--when you and Liz get together." He gave her a sly, reflected grin. 

That grin disappeared a moment later when Tess glanced speculatively over at her back seat-mate. "I don't know, Liz," she said solemnly. "Do you think we ought to let him watch?" 

Liz stared at her for a moment, and then, surprisingly, played along. "I don't know. I usually like to keep my love life private. But maybe, if he's very, very good...." she trailed off suggestively. As one, the two girls turned forward and looked innocently at Kyle's reflection in the rear-view mirror. He was sitting there, stunned, his mouth hanging slightly open. Liz and Tess glanced back at each other and burst into laughter. It felt good. 

From the front passenger seat, Max watched them. He looked surprised. Well, no more so than Tess herself. To think that prim, proper Liz Parker would unbend enough to actually joke with her rival. For that matter, think of Liz Parker even having a sense of humor in the first place, one that Tess could relate to. Maybe they had more in common than Max. 

Max, who a blind man could see was uncomfortable with the situation. "So are we doing this or not?" he said loudly. "We still have friends to find, remember?" 

"Hey, I'm just waiting for one of you to get out of the car," Tess pointed out. "You two hogged the front, so Liz and I are more or less stuck back here." 

By this time, Kyle had recovered to some degree. A good thing, too; Tess had wondered if he was going to be able to force his mind away from the mental image their words had most likely created. She was rather pleased when he focused it on the situation at hand. "You're sure the shapeshifter's not home?" he asked, studying the house through the windshield. 

"No, I'm not sure. We'll find out when we go in," Tess responded smartly. 

"And if he is, we can just say we're working on a group project for school," suggested Liz in a determined voice. "But we're wasting time. Let's get this done so we can go find Maria, Alex and Isabel." 

Rather hurriedly, the four of them piled out of the convertible. Kyle opened the trunk and pulled out an oversized duffel bag before following the others to the front door. Reaching into her purse, Tess pulled out her keys. 

"Can't you just...you know?" asked Kyle with a wave of his free hand. 

"Not in front of the neighbors. We're trying to blend in, remember?" 

"Oh. Right." 

Stepping inside, Tess waited for the others to follow, and shut the door behind them. "Wait here," she ordered before doing a quick walk-through of the house. Although she had hidden her tension before, she allowed herself to relax when she returned to the foyer. 

"He's not here," she announced. 

Kyle frowned and pressed, "You're sure?" 

"Yes, I'm sure," she responded confidently, then joked, "Unless he's shifted into a houseplant." 

"He can do that?" the jock asked, startled. He glanced warily around him, as if expecting to be attacked by a six-foot spider plant. 

Dropping the teasing, Tess considered his question more seriously. She'd seen Nasedo appear from the wall in the pod chamber; he could shift into rock. So why not a plant? "I don't know," she said honestly. "He mostly does people. Maybe their shapes are easier to maintain. But I'm pretty sure he's not here. His car's gone." 

"Let's get started, then," Liz said, taking charge. "Tess, there are only two doors into the house, right?" 

Tess shook her head. "Three, actually, but the one into the garage and the one into the back yard are both in the kitchen. One person could watch both." 

"Then you and Max should stay downstairs and keep an eye out," Liz decided. "Kyle and I will head upstairs and see if we can find the secret room." 

"I don't like it," objected Max. Tess didn't either, but she suspected it was for different reasons. He was obviously torn between wanting to help his best friend and worrying that something would happen to Liz. "If something goes wrong...." 

Liz looked at him firmly. "Believe me, Max, I don't want anything to happen to us, either. But whatever's up there is booby-trapped. If you or Tess get too near, it could take you out just like it did Isabel." 

"It knocked Alex out, too," Max pointed out. 

"Yes, it did. But an alien was the one who set it off, not a human. Kyle and I will be fine. Besides," she added lightly, "if something _should_ happen to us, you can come fix it. We wouldn't be able to, the other way around." 

Max still didn't look convinced. Liz shook her head. There was no need for her to get upset, in Tess's opinion. Max cared about people; it would naturally make him cautious. He was just doing what he was supposed to do--lead. Take charge of things. But then again, he wasn't Liz's leader. Just her...friend. Tess swallowed. Her more than friend. 

Putting in his two cents, Kyle brought the disagreement to a close. "Hey, whose plan is this, anyway? Mine. And I say the aliens stay here on the lookout for other aliens, and the humans go handle search and recovery. Come on, Liz." Carrying the duffel bag, he headed for the stairs. Liz followed. 

"It's the last door on the right, at the end of the hall," Tess called helpfully after them. Moving to Max's side, she pushed him gently in the direction of the living room. "Come on, Max. You take the front, I'll take the kitchen." He nodded, but his eyes moved almost involuntarily back to the stairway. 

"It's better this way," Tess said. "If Nasedo gets back, he'll run into one of us. We can explain why we're here; I live here, and you're waiting to talk to him again. Liz and Kyle don't have such a believable excuse. Nasedo's not stupid, but he is cautious. The joint school project probably wouldn't fly." 

Max sighed. "You're right. It's just...." 

Tess studied his face. "I know, Max. You care about her," she said quietly. He didn't--he probably had no wish to--deny it. Reaching up, she patted him tenderly on the shoulder. "You can work on that later. For now, start watching the front, okay?"  
  
  
*****  


Upstairs, Liz stopped in the hallway. "She said it was at the end of the hall," she reminded Kyle. 

"I know. I just want to see something." He took a step through an open doorway. Liz followed and looked around the room. 

It was obviously Tess's. It looked a little more lived-in than the rest of the overly pristine house. A sweater was draped over the back of the desk chair, and a few magazines were piled haphazardly on the nightstand. The walls were painted--or perhaps molecularly manipulated--a delicate shade of pink, echoed in the floral print comforter and curtains. It looked more softly feminine than Liz would have expected. She was a little uneasy to see a small framed photo of Max on the dresser. 

"So this is Tess's room," Kyle said absently as he gazed around. 

"What exactly were you expecting?" asked Liz, a little amused by his distraction. 

"I don't know. It just looks so normal." 

"I think that's probably the point." Liz smiled in spite of herself. "Look, I'm heading down the hall. You can root through her underwear drawer or whatever you've got in mind, but I have a friend to help out. Meet me in the other room when you're done." 

"What? Hey, I just wanted to see it, that's all," Kyle protested, then gave her a self-assured smile. "It's not like I've never seen a girl's bedroom before. Present company included," he added pointedly. 

"Oh, I remember," she shot back, thinking of the night he and Max had gotten drunk and had broken into her room, the night of her awful blind date. "Where do you think I got the idea that you had a thing for underwear drawers?" 

Kyle looked at her for a minute, letting her tease him, then shook his head. "So are you just going to stand there and waste more time?" He pushed past her and continued down the hall; she followed, half in amusement and half in exasperation. 

It didn't take them long to find the room in question. Thanks to Isabel's description, Liz immediately pinpointed the wall where the strange dark-colored handprint lay hidden by the abstract painting. "That's it," she said. 

Nodding, Kyle disappeared into the bathroom, and Liz could hear him knock on the wall. Then he moved to the closet. Pushing aside the rows of clothing that hung within, he pounded on an interior wall. 

"What do you think?" she said from the closet doorway. 

Kyle studied the wall for another minute, and then answered, "Closet. It's going to make a mess, though." 

Liz didn't hesitate. Pushing past him, she grabbed an armful of shirts and unceremoniously dumped them on the bed, then headed back to the closet for another load. Kyle pitched in; within minutes the closet was empty and Nasedo's rather dull wardrobe was draped over the bedroom furniture. 

Crouching down by the duffel bag, Kyle unzipped it and hauled out the sledgehammer he'd been carrying inside it. He rose smoothly to his feet and moved to the closet. For the first time, Liz's determination faltered. 

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Kyle?" she asked. "What if there are electrical wires or water pipes inside the wall?" 

Looking over, Kyle gave her a wide smile, and she suddenly remembered just what it was that had attracted her to him in the first place. But he wasn't paying any heed to her worries. Still smiling, he drawled, "I know a way to find out." With a grunt, he lifted the sledge with both hands and let its head fly at the closet wall.  
  
  
*****  


It took several minutes of effort for Maria to loosen the scarf that bound her hands, even the slightest bit. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to undo the knot or to allow her to slip out of the bonds. 

By turning her head, she could just see her mother out of the corner of her eye. She wished she could say something reassuring, but could only make semi-intelligible noises through the gag. With a frustrated moan, she went back to work on the scarf. 

A sudden movement from the other direction made her forget her struggle to get free. She sat still, her heart thudding in her chest, not sure what she'd seen. But someone--something--had definitely moved. Had Bob done something to Michael, and was he now coming back to get rid of the human witnesses? She'd held it together pretty well during the whole ordeal, but was on the verge of losing the small grip she still had on things. Panicking, she watched as the kitchen door moved. Somewhere in the back of her frightened brain, she made a note to stop watching late-night horror movies. 

She couldn't see anyone in the doorway as the door creaked slowly open. Great. Now they were being invaded by the Invisible Man. Heart pounding, she began to struggle even more furiously with the scarves that held her. She'd get loose and find a butcher knife, or something. Some defensive weapon. At this point, she'd even settle for a spork. 

Then she saw the hand that pushed the door open. Just the hand. The invader was standing to the side of the doorway to keep out of sight. A moment of tense silence, and then a face appeared in the doorway as the person leaned cautiously around the corner. 

"Holy crap!" 

Letting out the breath she'd been holding, Maria closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax just the slightest bit. She didn't think she'd ever heard Alex use that particular expression before, although he had a very inventive vocabulary for use on such occasions. Not that he often came across one of his best friends and her mother bound and gagged in their own kitchen. He would've told Liz and her about it if he had. So maybe that _was_ the appropriate expression for this situation, after all. She just hoped she never had the opportunity to hear it again. 

As these thoughts danced skittishly through her brain, Alex was by her side, his fingers fighting with the knot that held the scarf around her head. The moment he got it off, he demanded, "What happened? Who did this to you?" 

Maria's eyes were regretful, but she answered steadily. "Michael. He--" 

She didn't think she'd ever seen as much anger on Alex's face as he interrupted her. "_Michael?_ What the--" 

Maria shook her head furiously, interrupting in turn. "It was tie us up or watch us be killed. I think he made the right choice." 

Alex stared in horror for a moment; then he moved around her chair to work on her bound hands. Impatiently, Maria objected. "Get Mom first." 

"I'm okay," came her mother's voice. Startled, Maria turned her head to look. Her mother's hands were free, and she'd yanked down the scarf that gagged her. Now she was leaning down to work one-handedly on the belt that secured her feet to the kitchen chair. 

"How--" Maria began, only to interrupt herself. "Ow! Careful, Alex! I just loosened that!" 

"Sorry," her friend said, his nimble fingers working at the knot. "Do you want me to cut it?" 

Maria hesitated for a moment. "What did he use?" 

"The green and gold patterned scarf Liz gave you for Christmas last year," he told her. 

"No, I like that one," she answered, then got back to the question she'd started to ask. "Mom, how on earth did you untie yourself? Your wrist is broken. I don't recall being related to that Houdini guy." 

Her mother sounded a little shaky, but answered, "I cut through the cord that held me." She got her feet loose about the same time as Maria's hands were freed; crossing over to her daughter, she knelt down beside her as Alex worked on freeing Maria's ankles. Amy put her good arm around Maria, and mother and daughter clung to each other, trembling with reaction. 

"Where is Michael now?" Alex asked as he finished with the last scarf. He looked concerned by her expression. And rightfully so. 

"Gone," Maria said heavily. "He left with another alien." Biting her lip, she added, "It's a long story." 

Alex nodded, showing his usual understanding. He didn't press her. Instead, he said, "I'm going to scout around," and cautiously headed out into the hallway. 

"Are you all right?" Amy asked. Her head buried in her mother's shoulder, Maria nodded. 

"I think so," she answered, her voice muffled. "I can hardly believe it happened." She paused for a moment, then lifted her head and asked, "So how did you cut through the cord, anyway?" 

Without a word, Amy explained by holding up the small pocketknife that was clutched in her left fist. Maria reached out to touch it gingerly with one finger. 

"That's Michael's," she said softly. Her mother nodded. 

"He slipped it into my hand after he'd tied my wrists," she explained. "It took me a few minutes to open it so I could cut the cord." Now Maria took a closer look at her mother's cast. There were gouges and a few small slits where the knife had scored it. A lump came to her throat, but she smiled, trying to keep a cheerful face. 

"Michael should just be glad he found a cord to tie you with," she quipped. "If you'd ended up having to slice through one of my scarves, I would've...." Her voice trailed off as she looked at the floor around the two chairs. Several scarves, which had been draped across her mirror; the brown leather belt that she'd tossed onto her dresser. And the cord her mother had cut through--didn't it look familiar? She chewed on the corner of her lip as she studied it, then realized just why it looked familiar. Michael had cut it from the curtains in her room. 

Granted, he'd only been gone a few minutes on his hunt for bindings, but it still shouldn't have taken him that long to grab a bunch of things that were in plain sight. Plus they were all from her room, the room Michael knew best in the DeLuca house, not that she'd tell her mother that. So what had taken him so long? 

Without a word, she broke from the chair and her mother's embrace, and raced towards the door that led into the rest of the house. Ignoring Amy's startled cry, Maria ran for her room. 

The first thing she noticed was that her room was a bigger mess than usual. In his haste, Michael had gone through the room like a hurricane. He'd evidently been too rushed to search her desk for pen and paper; the message was scrawled across her mirror. In her very favorite lip liner, no less. 

_I'll try to keep him away. Don't look for me. Tell Max._ And then, squeezed into the corner, one more word. _Sorry._

Maria reached out and touched that last word with one fingertip, careful not to smudge it. She would never wash that mirror again, especially if-- 

No. She wasn't even going to consider the possibility that Michael wouldn't come back. She would hold on firmly to the idea that he would. He'd escape from Bob, or they'd rescue him, and then things would be right. Her only problem would be getting her mom to accept his otherworldly status. Well, that and convincing her that Michael had purposely misled Bob and that they'd never slept together. 

But all that would come once she had Michael back. First she needed to do what Michael's message said, tell Max and the others, so they could ignore the rest of the message and go look for her aggravating but deeply-loved semi-boyfriend. She would hold it together, and be strong. She wouldn't let anything stop her from saving him. 

After all, he hadn't let anything stop him from saving her. 

In between the crimson words scrawled on the mirror, Maria saw herself. Her eyes looked red-rimmed and puffy, her face white; but she wore a determined expression that was oddly reassuring. With a nod to her reflection, she headed back towards the kitchen. Time to come up with a fast explanation for her mother before grabbing Alex and taking off to find Max. 

She didn't get very far down the hallway before Alex stopped her, a worried look still plastered across his face. Unusually blunt, he spoke before she had a chance to. His tone was harsh. 

"Isabel's missing."  
  
  



	23. Chapter 23

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 23**_

It didn't take long for the sledgehammer to break through the closet's interior wall. "It's just drywall," Kyle informed Liz as she paced across the room. "I missed the two-by-fours holding it up." 

She came and stood in the closet doorway and watched white powder fly through the air. After a few more blows, Kyle stopped swinging the sledge and began to pull away chunks of plasterboard with his hands. 

When he'd made a sizable hole, he crouched to peer through. "Do you see anything?" Liz demanded. 

"Yeah," he shot back. "A whole lotta dark." Standing, he turned to her. "There's a flashlight in the duffel bag," he said. "Get it, will you?" A moment later he directed the beam through the opening. 

"It's not very deep," he reported. "And it doesn't go back as far as the closet and bathroom do. Just big enough to store something.... Bingo." 

"What?" asked Liz in excitement. "What is it?" 

"Hold on," he answered before pulling some more drywall apart. "I need a bigger opening." Watching, Liz wished she had Maria's natural inclination to fidget, which might be able to distract her from the wait. It seemed like eons before Kyle cleared a large enough hole and reached in to grab whatever was stored inside. 

And then without warning, he cried out. "It's got me!" Jerking forward as if being sucked inside, his arm disappeared into the wall up to his shoulder. 

"What? Kyle? What happened? Kyle? Kyle?" shouted Liz, grabbing his other shoulder and shaking it in desperation. 

His arm still buried inside the wall, he turned towards her and shot her a sly grin. "Just kidding," he drawled. 

Her pulse racing erratically, Liz stared at him for one moment, unable to believe what he'd just done. Not with everything at stake. Then, her jaw firming, she smacked him smartly across the back of the head. 

This time his cry was for real. "Ouch! Liz, I'm not a punching bag. God, you'd think you were Maria or something," he complained, which earned him another smack, this time on her friend's behalf. "Quit it." 

"Don't joke around," Liz said sternly. 

"Okay, okay. Sorry." Kyle pulled his arm out of the wall, clutching something in his hand. "Got it!" 

Liz peered avidly over his shoulder. The item he held was a grayish cube about the height of a compact disc, and glistened with a metallic sheen. The cube was perfectly smooth on all sides. Only the corners were slightly rounded, as if its maker didn't want to prick his--her--its?--fingers on a sharp point. Reaching around Kyle, Liz took it from his hand. It was both heavier and lighter than she'd expected. 

"So what is it?" asked Kyle, trying to see his reflection in the side. 

"I don't know." 

"Is it alien?" 

Liz frowned thoughtfully. "I can't tell without testing--not that I have the right equipment for it--but it doesn't look like any metal I've seen before." Throwing caution to the wind, she grasped it firmly in both hands and shook it experimentally. She didn't hear anything, but she got the sense that something was inside, suspended in some thick gel-like liquid to keep it in place. "I think it's a box. There's something inside." 

"How do we get it open?" asked Kyle. "I don't see a lock. Or even any hinges." 

Liz ran her hands over the smooth sides. "I don't know. Maybe Max or Tess can do something with it." Cradling the cube, she asked, "Is that it, or is there anything else?" 

Kyle immediately bent down to shine the flashlight into the hidden cubby. "Yeah," he said. "There's something else." A moment later, he was holding two small metal rectangles, each with patterns cut into it. It only took one glance for Liz to realize what they were. 

"Get Max and Tess," she ordered, tucking the cube under her arm and taking the new find from him. As he headed down the hallway, she stared worriedly at the sheets of metal. Sheets that looked just like the pages from the mysterious alien book, the one that foretold Max's destiny.  
  
  
*****  


"What do you mean, Isabel's missing?" demanded Maria. 

"What do you think I mean? She's not here. Vanished. Poof--she's gone!" shot back an anxious Alex. Taking in her confusion, he pulled himself together enough to explain. "We came over here together. Michael called and left a message that you needed help, so--" 

"He did?" she asked, momentarily diverted. "He actually called, even though he hasn't been speaking to _anyone_?" 

"Yeah. You were in trouble, so he called," Alex answered. His voice rose. "Get over it, Maria, and concentrate on the fact that I can't find Isabel, okay?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry," she said repentantly. "So what happened to her?" 

"I don't know what happened to her!" he shouted. "That's the point!" 

Maria moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, Alex. It's not going to help anyone if you lose it. Leave the freaking out to me, okay?" When he nodded, the clouds in his eyes clearing a little, she went on, "So where did you last see her?" 

"We left the Jeep a few houses down the street. She was going to come to the front and pretend she'd come over for a study session or something, so she could scope things out. I headed around towards the back. I was the reinforcements." 

There was a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of Maria's stomach. "When was this, Alex?" 

"About twenty minutes ago, I guess. The Jeep's still there, but she's not." 

"Alex," she said slowly, "Michael and Bob--the other alien--left about twenty minutes ago. Unless they beamed themselves out of the living room, they went out the front door." 

Without needing any discussion, they both raced for it. "There's no sign of a struggle," Maria offered consolingly. 

Alex didn't cheer up. "Why doesn't that make me feel better? Face it, Maria. She went with them." 

"If she did, she had no choice, or she went to help Michael. Either way, he'll look out for her. She's family." She was, too, at least emotionally. Maria forbore to mention that Michael's real family member was there as well. "There's no problem. We find Michael, and we'll find Isabel. Easy." 

She frowned, trying to determine their next move. "We just have to get Max, and the rest will work itself out. When you met this afternoon, what did you guys decide to do?" 

"Isabel and I never made it. She had to come pick me up, since you didn't, and then we got distracted by Michael's message." 

Maria didn't bother to act the least bit apologetic for stranding him. After all, it hadn't been her fault. Instead, her mind raced forward. "Well, did you call them?" 

"Of course we did. You were in trouble, and we wanted to make sure you had all the help you could get. It didn't matter, though. They'd already left the Crashdown, and no one answered anywhere else." 

"Do you think they went ahead to Tess's?" 

"They might've," he admitted. 

Maria headed towards the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, "We'll call there and see. They might need us, and we definitely need to tell them what's going on. We can head over there if they are." 

"You can head where?" 

Maria turned, realizing she'd completely forgotten about her mother, who had put away the kitchen chairs and was checking the lock on the back door. Well, there were still things Maria didn't feel ready to share. Her mother would not be pleased if she knew any more of what was going on, and Maria didn't want to have to deal with her over-protective maternal instinct. "We've run into a...a situation, Mom. Alex and I need to go take care of it." 

"I don't think so," her mother replied. "What happened today--after that, do you think I'm ever going to let you out of my sight again?" 

"I just was out of your sight," Maria reminded her. 

"Don't get smart with me. You know what I mean." 

So much for avoiding the maternal instinct. "Look, I need to take care of this. I have to help Michael." 

"I don't want you anywhere near him." 

"How can you say that?" Maria demanded. "After everything he did to try and keep us safe, how can you even say that?" 

"Because he's dangerous! He has you convinced that he's an alien. An _alien_, Maria! Maybe he even believes it. And it almost got us killed!" 

"Mom, he's in trouble but it isn't his fault--" 

"Oh, it never is, is it?" 

"He needs my help!" 

"He needs help all right, but not yours. He needs a doctor. It doesn't matter; you're not going anywhere." 

With an aggravated screech, Maria turned to Alex, who was watching with wide eyes. "Call Tess's house. See if they're there. We need to meet, and it looks like it's going to have to be here. Oh, and call Sheriff Valenti," she instructed, ignoring the startled look that appeared on her mother's face at the mention of the lawman. "Maybe he can talk some sense into her." 

Alex nodded and reached for the phone. Grabbing her mother by the hand, Maria pulled her towards the living room. "You may as well sit down, Mom. There are some things I need to explain."  
  
  
*****  


Tess stood in the kitchen, idly drumming her fingers on the all-too-clean countertop. She understood how Max felt; she positively itched with the need to be doing something. But it was safer all around for her to be where she was, watching. She just wished Kyle and Liz would hurry up. She had a feeling that something was very wrong, and that her brother was in the middle of it. 

When the phone rang, it was almost a relief, just to have something to do. "Harding residence, Tess speaking," she said politely into the receiver, just as Nasedo had taught her. She was well aware that it wasn't considered wise in this day and age to announce herself before she knew who was calling, but Nasedo had picked up so-called human manners years before and ruthlessly drilled them into her head. No matter that they were dated. Besides, she had powers; she wasn't really in danger from answering the phone. So she did what her pretend father instructed. No need to rock the boat on this one. 

She was rather surprised when the voice on the other end immediately identified itself as Alex. Surprise turned to shock as she listened to what he had to say. A few words on her part, and then she was racing out of the kitchen, calling at the top of her lungs. She didn't even bother to greet Kyle, who was starting down the stairs. "Liz! Max!" she yelled. "We have to go!"  
  
  
*****  


When the four teenagers arrived at the DeLuca residence, Sheriff Valenti was already getting out of his cruiser. His hand moved to his gun belt at the screech of the convertible's tires, but he relaxed as Kyle pulled up crookedly behind him. 

The Sheriff nodded to them, but, "Nice driving, Kyle," was his only comment. 

His son shrugged it off. "Like you didn't do the same thing," he shot back knowingly. Liz guessed that he was right. There was no way the Sheriff could have gotten there so quickly, not unless he had ignored all the traffic regulations he was supposed to be enforcing. 

Well, time was of the essence. Since it was, and since Liz had spent far too much time at Maria's house to trifle with trivialities like knocking on the door, she barged right in. The others followed closely behind her. 

They found them in the living room. Alex sat on the couch, his head in his hands. Mrs. DeLuca also sat, a grim--and peculiarly maternal--expression on her face. Maria paced back and forth in front of them, her hair disheveled from raking her hands through it in frustration. Liz noted offhandedly that, at that moment, Maria's hairdo was a good match for Michael's spiked head. 

"Thank god you're here," her friend burst out. "Michael's father tried to kill us but Michael kept him from doing it, and he took him, and Isabel's missing, and we think she went with them, and my mother won't believe that Michael's an alien!" 

Several people spoke at once. 

"Isabel is _what--_" 

"Michael's _father--_" 

"Are you all right--" 

It was Liz who cut through the babble first. "You told your mother Michael's an alien?" she blurted over the room's hubbub, shocked that Maria would betray him this way. 

"Of course not!" the blonde said indignantly. "I would never do that! _He_ told her." 

This completely floored all of them. Max moved closer. "Michael told your mother he was an alien?" he repeated softly. "Michael's never told _anyone_ that." 

"I know, but he did. At least, Bob said he was, and he admitted it," she tried to explain. 

"Bob?" 

The Sheriff broke in. "Why don't we all sit down so Maria can tell us what happened," he suggested. "Let's sort this all out calmly." 

Without a word, Alex rose and gave his spot on the couch to Liz, joining Max on the floor. Leaning against the couch near Liz, Maria pulled her knees up and rested her flushed forehead on them. 

From her perch next to Kyle, Tess turned to Maria and demanded, "How much does she know?" 

Wearily, Maria answered. "She knows Michael's an alien, even if she won't believe it. She knows that there's another one--Bob--who was here, and that he wants Michael to kill his king." 

Liz could feel the color drain from her face, but Max responded steadily, "It's all right. Michael won't do it." 

Maria's mother sat straighter in her chair. "How do you know? According to the other man--not that I believe any of this--he's killed before." 

Wary glances were exchanged between the teenagers. Sheriff Valenti looked her straight in the eye. "He has. And he saved my life doing it." 

Her mouth opened, but she didn't seem able to speak. Finally, she managed a quavering, "J...Jim?" 

"It's true, Amy," he answered. "I was about to be shot, and Max and the others would have been next. Michael stopped the man, and he died." 

"The others?" Mrs. DeLuca asked in horrified suspicion. She looked at the teenagers. They nodded their agreement, all except Maria who, Liz noticed, didn't look up. "It...it was true? What has he dragged you all into?" 

Rising to his feet, Max stood before her. "Michael didn't drag anyone into anything, Mrs. DeLuca. I did. It's my fault anyone found out about us." 

She stared at the tall boy, who suddenly seemed much older than his age. "Us? But--but--" He nodded. 

Maria let out what in happier circumstances might've been a small giggle. "Mom, meet King Max."  
  
  



	24. Chapter 24

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 24**_

Some time, several rather shaky explanations, and a few demonstrations of molecular manipulation later, Amy DeLuca was finally starting to believe--at least that aliens existed. As she said, it was harder for her to believe that nice, clean-cut kids like Max and Tess were actually 'not of this Earth', as Max put it. And that they'd lived this long with the secret, a small group of teenagers--children--hiding from the authorities, from adults in general. "And speaking of authorities--how long have you known about this, Jim?" she asked. 

"About eight months. But I had my suspicions before then, particularly about Max," the Sheriff stated matter-of-factly. 

Mrs. DeLuca took this in, then began to shake her head, unconsciously denying it. "You knew? You knew what was going on, and you--the Sheriff and a father--allowed these children to go rushing off into danger? My daughter, your son--all of them! They're children, Jim! They could've been killed!" 

"Mrs. DeLuca, he didn't exactly allow us to go rushing into danger," Max began, taking responsibility. "We were already there. In fact, we pulled him into it. It's not his fault, it's mine." 

"It is not your fault," she proclaimed. "You're no more an adult than the rest of them. You or your sister." She sucked in a deep breath. "Do your parents know?" 

He shook his head. "It was always too risky to tell them." 

"Risky? Why? They're your _parents_, Max. They love you, just like I love Maria and Jim loves Kyle." The Sheriff nodded, and a slightly embarrassed-looking Kyle glanced away with a shrug. "They'd understand." 

Curled up on the floor by Liz's feet, Maria snorted. When she spoke, her voice was hard. "Why, Mom?" 

"Why what?" 

"Why would they understand? You didn't." 

"Give me some credit, Maria. This whole thing took me by surprise. Who really believes it when they're told aliens exist?" 

"I did," Maria said stubbornly. She conveniently left out the part where she'd run screaming at the news. She'd freaked out, sure. But she'd believed it. 

"Maria, I've seen a little more of the world then you have. But still, it's not so easy to believe this sort of thing right off." 

"She's right about that," Sheriff Valenti put in. "It took me a long time to believe that my father hadn't been crazy when he talked about aliens. And, to be honest, it took me even longer to believe that some aliens weren't any different than the rest of us, not when it comes to things that matter." He turned to Max, locking his eyes with the alien's. Max gave him a smile and a small nod. 

"Thank you, Jim," Amy said in approval. "You see, Maria? Now I'm not saying it won't take a while for me to really grasp it all, but I do believe what Max tells me. I guess I have to." 

Maria shook her head, still not satisfied. "Then why wouldn't you believe it when Michael told you? No, you had to say he was crazy, that he needed a doctor," she continued resentfully. "But Mr. and Mrs. Evans, they'll believe Max and Isabel right off, huh?" 

"Maria, there's a difference." 

The pent-up emotion of the evening, the fear and strain and worry Maria had been holding in burst out, blindly battering at its target. "Difference? Because Michael didn't have the luck to be adopted into a good home, he's automatically a liar? Crazy? Do you have any idea how hard it was for him to tell you? To tell anyone? God, he went through hell for us. He was _branded_ for god's sake! You saw it happen. All to keep us safe, and you still wouldn't believe him. What did he ever do to you that--" 

"It's what he did to _you_, Maria," her mother said sternly, managing to keep calm. It figured she would be acting all adult at a time like this. "I know how you feel about him, but he used you." 

"What? He did not use me, Mom! He loves me!" protested Maria, whose denials were echoed by Liz and Max. 

"I was there. He admitted he didn't care about you, and you already told me you'd broken up. I know it hurts, honey, but it's over. He made his choice." Amy crossed towards her. Crouching, she put her hand on Maria's shoulder. 

"He didn't say that!" Maria shouted, jerking away. 

Her mother spoke softly. "I heard him." 

Maria's retort reached fever pitch. "You heard what he wanted Bob to hear," she cried out, looking blindly around the room for support. Liz squeezed her hand, and Maria tried to calm enough to make her mother see. "He called me 'Princess', Mom. He and I have a thing about nicknames; it was a _signal!_" She gave an almost hysterical laugh. "God, he's hurt me before. Do you think I can't tell the difference?" 

"I think you're too mixed-up by what you're feeling to see the big picture," her mother answered honestly. 

Surprisingly, out of all of them, it was Tess who got through. "You're wrong, Mrs. DeLuca. Michael may be doing or saying some strange things, but there's no doubt how he feels about Maria." The older woman looked at her doubtfully. Tess explained, "I don't know him very well--not as well as I want to--but it's so obvious. Well, he does try to hide it like he hides everything else," she admitted, "but anyone who'd take the least bit of effort to look beyond the surface could see it." 

"See? I'm not making this up," said Maria as she rose with determination. "So you're not going to stop me from helping him." 

She looked around once more for a show of support. The other teenagers, except for Kyle, were looking in curiosity or surprise at Tess. The alien shrugged. "What? I should know my own brother, shouldn't I?" 

Hearing this, Maria clapped a hand to her head. "Oh my god! Tess!" she blurted. "If Michael is your brother and Bob is his father, then he's probably your father, too!" 

Tess stopped stock-still. Her mouth opened, but she didn't say anything, just blinked a bit. Maria was reminded--rather painfully--of her ex-boyfriend. That impression didn't last long, however, because a sparkling expression of excitement that she'd never seen on Michael's face grew on Tess's. "You're right," the alien said, a light in her eye. The light disappeared rather quickly, however, and Maria couldn't blame her. It would mean that Tess's father wanted her brother to kill her destined husband. That was very wrong. Well, the whole situation was wrong, but the position it put Tess in really sucked. Maria felt an unexpected welling up of sympathy, but before she could say anything else, her mother grabbed her arm and her attention. 

"You are not leaving this house, young lady!" she said sternly. 

Maria let out a frustrated scream. "Why won't you let me help him? You were the one who got his suspension revoked. Why is it okay for you to help and not me?" 

"That was before I knew what was going on! Maria, this situation is dangerous," her mother protested. "One man is already dead. What if you're next?" 

"Then you can put in another call to that detective friend of yours. Make do with your brother!" Maria stopped, a little shocked at the bitterness in her own voice. In front of her, her mother paled. 

"Maria, I--" 

A shake of Maria's head cut her off. "No, Mom." She spoke quietly, but somehow she had everyone's attention. "You're making me choose between you and Michael. It's funny--Michael would never do that to me. Guess that says something about love, huh?" She let out a bitter little laugh. "Well, if I have to make that choice, I'll make it. Anyone who wants to help figure out what we do next, come to my room." Heading towards the hall, she stopped as her mother spoke. 

"Maria, what are you going to do?" 

Maria didn't turn back as she answered, "I don't know. I'll let you know when I've made my choice." Then she stalked out of the room. Five teenagers unhesitatingly followed in her wake, leaving the two adults behind them.  
  
  
*****  


Groggily swimming into consciousness, Michael came to the rather familiar realization that he was on the floor. He'd spent too much time on floors not to recognize one when he felt one. But this particular floor was too hard to be Max's bedroom. Hell, it was even harder than the floor of Hank's trailer, and the flimsy and discolored carpet there hadn't provided much padding. Those were the two floors he'd spent the most time on, and it wasn't either of them, so where was he and how did he get wherever he was? 

He finally managed to pry one eye open only to find a splotch of pale gray color just an inch or so away. He was still enough out of it that it took him a moment to put the sight and the feeling together, but he finally drew the conclusion that he was sprawled face down on dirty concrete. Between his dizziness and his disorientation, it took several more minutes for him to push himself up on his hands. He had to keep stopping whenever his head swam. But finally he was able to maneuver into a sitting position and look around in the dim light. Sure enough, he was sitting on a concrete floor. And the only other thing in the small room was a twin-sized bed upon which rested a rather familiar--and somewhat more neatly arranged--figure. 

Isabel. 

A gentle shake didn't rouse her, nor did softly calling her name; but his fingers quickly found a pulse in her neck. It seemed rather slow, especially when he tested out his own for comparison. Not that he'd know what was normal. Maybe the fact that she was out like a light while he was feeling uncomfortably close to panic made the difference. 

Stumbling to his feet, he headed woozily over to the door and tested it, bruising his knuckles as he punched it in frustration. It was locked, but there was a light switch on the wall. Trying it, he blinked at the sudden glare of light and looked around. 

He and Isabel were in a small room, with disintegrating wallpaper and a dingy ceiling. In addition to the door he stood near, there were two others; upon investigation, these proved to be a closet and a small, minimally equipped bathroom. 

A movement to the side caught his attention, and he spun around, coming face to face with his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Not a particularly vain person--in fact, habitually lackadaisical in appearance--Michael had never spent much time in front of mirrors. He was stuck with what he was, and without Isabel and Max's manipulation powers, he couldn't do much to change his appearance, even if he'd cared enough to. 

At that moment, though, he wished he could. It wasn't the disarray of his hair--he was used to that--or the dark circles under his eyes, or the set of his grim mouth that bothered him. It was the mark on his cheek. Gingerly, he reached up to touch it. He didn't feel anything but normal, ordinary skin, but the lines were incised blackly into his flesh. Something about the symbol felt wrong, as if he were on the brink of being able to read it but that what it said was somehow warped and twisted. 

He wanted it gone. 

Unable to bear looking at it any more, he turned abruptly and stumbled back through the doorway into the main room. The layout wasn't all that different from what he might've expected in a run-down motel, but he assumed such an establishment would have more furniture than a single bed. Even the pay-by-the-hour motel he and Maria had slept in during the trip to Marathon had boated more furniture than this. Not that it had made any difference to him; he'd slept on the floor then too. 

After unsuccessfully testing the door--for a second time--he gave up and sank down against a brown and gold-covered wall. Putting his head in his hands, he tried to think. 

There was no doubt in his mind that, wherever this was, Bob had brought them here. They'd been on the verge of leaving Maria's when they'd run into Isabel. Michael hadn't had a chance to say or do anything before Bob had struck her on the head and she collapsed. He'd barely been able to catch her before she hit the ground. 

Bob had resorted once more to threats, and, both figuratively and literally powerless, Michael had reluctantly carried her down the street to a nondescript late-model sedan that sat at the curb. It had grown dark by then, and the intervening street lamps had burnt out. Burnt out, or been put out? Either way, no one had seen them. Isabel was neatly stashed in the back seat, but Michael was not permitted to sit next to her. Instead, he was ordered to ride shotgun. He wasn't sure why; he wasn't exactly going to be pleasant traveling company. 

But Bob evidently wasn't interested in conversation. The last thing Michael could remember between fastening his seat belt and waking up dumped in this room was his father pulling out a syringe and jabbing it right through his jacket and into his arm. After that, nothing. Michael had no idea how far they'd traveled, or what time or even what day it was. Or if the other alien had had help to get the two unconscious teenagers inside, whenever they'd arrived wherever they were. 

Raising his hand, he rubbed blearily at his eyes. Whatever Bob had injected him with was taking its time to wear off completely. He would find it fairly easy to give in and sink back into a drug-induced stupor, if he didn't watch out. 

A movement and a mumble from the bed brought him to his feet again. "Izzy?" he asked softly as he crossed over to her. Her eyelids fluttered a few times before she woke completely. One hand rose to her temple, and her eyes opened. 

She looked around for a few moments, taking in her surroundings, before her eyes came to rest on Michael's face. She didn't say anything, just looked at him. 

"Isabel?" he asked again. "Are you okay?" 

He moved toward her, his hand out, only to be cut off by a sharp, "Don't touch me!" 

Stopping where he was, he dropped his hand to his side, but didn't back down. "Look, I know you probably hate me right now, but I just want to make sure you're all right, okay?" 

She stared at him through icy eyes. He couldn't control the inward shiver that ran through him. She'd never looked at him like that before. He knew he'd screwed things up between them with his own stupid actions, but still, some part of him had held on to the idea that he hadn't lost her or Max for good, that deep down they'd always be there for each other. 

Now he wasn't so sure. 

"How's your head?" he asked once more, then sighed as she refused to answer. 

Moving to a wall, he slid down it into a sitting position and dropped his head into his hands. As his brain cleared, it began to ache. Or maybe it had always hurt, but whatever he'd been drugged up with had masked the pain for a while. He sat there for a while, trying to decide what to do. The last bunch of decisions he'd made hadn't turned out so well.... Finally, without lifting his head from his hands, he began to speak. 

"The guy who slugged you--he's my father. He wants me to kill Max," he stated baldly. 

Isabel didn't respond, but he got the sense that she was listening. So he continued. "He doesn't know who Max is, though. And he doesn't know who you are. So we gotta pretend you're human. Then there's a chance we can keep you safe." A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I know you didn't do it for me, but I still gotta say thanks. For coming over to help Maria. I'm just sorry it got you into this mess." 

Isabel spoke, her voice sounding strained. "Is she all right?" 

A hint of relief crept into Michael's voice. "I think so, yeah. He made me tie them up, but I slipped Mrs. DeLuca my pocketknife." 

There was silence for a space. Finally, she spoke again. "Why did he want her?" 

"He didn't. He thought he was tracking me. But he wanted to use Maria as a hostage, and I couldn't let that happen." He stared down at his hands. "He said he could read my mind. That we had some sort of family bond. He knew what I was thinking." 

This didn't seem to startle her as much as he might have thought. But maybe she and Max shared that kind of bond, and had never mentioned it to spare his feelings. Michael grimaced. "It didn't matter, anyway." 

Isabel sat up on the bed and looked directly at him. "Why? What did you do?" 

"Built a wall in my mind and blocked him out," he said shortly. 

This bit of news did startle her. "You...you blocked him?" she asked in some astonishment. 

"Yeah," he admitted. 

"How did you know how to do that?" 

"I don't know how. I just tried it and it worked okay for once." Here his face darkened. "I had to keep him from realizing how much I--how important Maria is. So I...I kinda made him think you were more important." 

Silence. 

"You remember those dreams we had last year, the ones Tess gave us? About you and me? Where we...uh, well, anyway, I just thought about them. Pictured them in my mind. I let him see them so he'd think Maria wasn't important, that you were." 

"And he bought it?" 

"Yeah, once I told Maria to her face that she didn't mean anything, that I was just using her for sex, right in front of him. She slapped me," he added, remembering. 

Isabel's voice rose to a screech. "You've had sex with her?" 

Michael bridled. "No," he said defensively. "Not that it's any business of yours, Isabel, got that?" 

"Of course it's my business!" she declared. "Are you considering it?" 

Considering it? Alien hybrid or not, he was a guy, wasn't he? Sometimes it was all he could think about. Michael frowned. "I'm not gonna discuss this with you, Iz. It's too weird." 

She pouted a bit, in her usual 'didn't get her own way' manner, but he didn't give in. 

"Anyway, that's all I know. So you can go back to hating me now, okay?" he growled. 

She hesitated for a moment, then said, "Why would I hate you, Michael?" 

For the first time in his life, Michael briefly considered the possibility that Isabel wasn't all that bright. "Because I was a complete asshole to everyone all week? Because I forcibly shoved all of you out of my life? Because I got you kidnapped? Take your pick." 

"So why were you being an asshole?" she asked, not denying that he had been. "What's going on?" 

"Nothing," he said with some bravado, then deflated at her knowing look. "Nothing important," he amended. 

"I don't believe you," she said. "Tell me, Michael." 

His jaw set. "I can't," he said bluntly. 

"Why not?" she returned, refusing to back down. 

"I can't tell you that either." 

"Why not, Michael?" 

"Because I can't. I was stupid, but.... Just forget it, Iz. I can't tell you." 

"This is me, Michael. Not some stranger on the street. We're...we're family." 

"I know that! Just drop it, Isabel, okay?" She didn't seem willing to do so, but Michael forged onward. "Look, let's just move on, okay? Figure out how to get you out of here without letting on who you are." 

"Michael--" she chided. 

He was firm. "No. Our priority here is getting you out. Then I'll worry about Bob." 

"Bob?" 

"The other alien...my father," he explained, hating the feel of that last word in his mouth. He took in the tension in her eyes. "Don't worry, Isabel. I'm not going to hurt Max. And I'm not going to let my father do it either." 

"Michael--" 

"No. Look, I know you have no reason to believe me, but I promise you this. I'm not letting anything happen to him," he vowed intensely. 

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth slightly open in surprise. Then her eyes narrowed as if taking his measure. She spoke again, slowly, in total seriousness. "I believe you." 

Almost as surprised as she was, Michael nodded. "So," he said in an attempt to hide his relief, "let's figure out how to get you out of here, okay?" 

"Then what are you going to do?" 

His voice grew grim. "Whatever I have to."  
  
  



	25. Chapter 25

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 25**_

"This is ridiculous!" shouted Maria as she collapsed backward onto her bed quite some time later. "We can't just wait around for Isabel to dreamwalk somebody and tell us where they are. We have to _do_ something!" 

"We've been over this already," Max responded without trying hide the fact that he wasn't any less concerned than Maria. "We have no way of knowing where they are." 

Maria growled and flung a pillow at the wall. It knocked a picture frame askew, but it didn't help ease her tension in the slightest. 

The knock on her bedroom door didn't help, either. Her face hard, she stared at the ceiling and refused to acknowledge it. At that moment she wasn't willing to talk to anyone who wasn't already in her room. Well, Isabel or Michael, sure, but they were nowhere to be found, which was why they were having this meeting in the first place. 

Tess, who was closest to the door, swung it open. 

Sure enough, Maria's mother stood there, a drawn look on her face. Hesitating in the doorway, she finally said, "It's getting late." Maria glanced at the clock and saw that it was, indeed, close to midnight. Liz started to rise from her seat on the bed, but Amy stopped her. "It's all right, Liz. I called your parents, and Alex's and Max's. I told them you and Isabel were working on a project, and got permission for you all to spend the night here. You too, Kyle. Your father said you can stay if you want to." She turned to the small blonde alien who still hovered by the door as if she didn't really belong there. "Tess, I'm afraid I didn't know your parents' phone number," she began. 

"That's all right, Mrs. DeLuca," Tess responded offhandedly. "I live with our protector. Half the time he's not around to know if I am or not." The thought crossed Maria's mind that a protector who wasn't there wasn't doing a particularly good job. 

Amy DeLuca seemed taken aback by this revelation. "Good lord, there are more of you?" 

"Just the one. As far as we know," Max clarified. Somehow this didn't seem to reassure her. She swallowed convulsively. "Anyway," Max continued, "thanks, Mrs. DeLuca." The others echoed him. 

"No problem." There was a pause, in which Maria purposely didn't look in her mother's direction. Said mother seemed to come to a decision. "Sheriff Valenti and I have been talking, and maybe I've been a little unfair. Chalk it up to the shock of being held at gunpoint. I'm not going to lie to you; I don't like any of this. But Max, Tess.... I can't stop you from doing what you feel you have to. From what Jim says, you have an obligation to...to your people. And much as I'd like to, I can't stop Liz or Alex from helping, not without telling their parents what's going on." She lifted a hand to forestall the protests. "No, I'm not going to tell anyone about you. I won't put you in more danger than you're already in. But what I _can_ do is make sure that my daughter doesn't end up hurt. Or dead," she said fiercely. She shook her head. "Maria," she continued, her voice softening, "Just promise me you won't leave the house tonight. We'll talk in the morning, once I've had time to...absorb this all." Her jaw clenched, Maria refused to answer. "Please," was all her mother said. 

Maria didn't take her eyes away from the ceiling, but she muttered a grudging, "Okay." Her mother let out the breath she'd been holding. 

"Thank you." She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, then opened them and adopted a more businesslike tone. "As for the rest of you, I can't stop you from doing anything. I'm not your mother. But please, for your parents' sakes--for your own--be very careful. I don't want anything to happen to you. Any of you." 

Glances were exchanged between the teens, and Liz spoke for all of them. "We'll be careful, Mrs. DeLuca. We promise." 

"Good." She nodded briskly, then started to go. Stopping abruptly, she turned back to Maria who was still lying sullenly on the bed, her arms crossed. 

"Maria." 

"What?" Maria snapped, sitting up. Her mother studied her and then reached into her pocket. "I almost forgot," she said, tossing a small object to her. "I dug this out--it had rolled underneath the couch. I thought you might want it." She turned to look at the others. "Maria knows where we keep the extra blankets and pillows. Don't stay up too late. You still have school tomorrow morning." And with that, she was gone. 

Maria stared glumly at the small blue crystal in her hand, the one Bob had said was a power cell. Whatever Michael had tried to do with it hadn't depleted its energy store; it still gave off a Michael vibe. She folded her fingers gently around it. And yet she almost wished she'd never seen the thing. If she hadn't, if Michael had never created it, Bob wouldn't have been able to track it down and force Michael to go with him. Michael would be with her right now, and she could lose herself in his arms, taking comfort in the warmth of his body.... 

No, she couldn't. If Michael were still here, he'd be off on his own, avoiding them for some unexplained, mutton-headed reason that only he knew. She would be forced to wait until they shared another dream to be able to talk to him. He certainly wouldn't be busting down her door to-- 

Wait a sec. 

She sucked in a breath, her mind working busily. "Guys," she said, her voice rising in excitement, "I think I have an idea."  
  
  
*****  


"Forget it, Isabel!" snapped Michael as he paced his way across the tiny confines of the room. "If you use your powers and Bob catches you, he's gonna know who you are, that you're important to someone besides just me. You'll just be another weapon to use against Max. We have to be smarter than that." 

He hated this. He wasn't good at long-term planning...or even short-term planning. He usually went with whatever his gut urged him to, and let Max bail him out. But Max wasn't here, thank god. Bad enough that Isabel was. 

"Come on, help me come up with something," he grumbled. He wished Liz was there. Not to put her in the same mess he and Isabel were in, but because she and her too-logical brain could probably be of use right now. Or even Alex; beneath his joking exterior, he had a way of seeing straight through things to their core. 

Come to think of it, Isabel was no dummy either. So why was she coming up with such stupid plans? 

Continuing to pace, he thought out loud. "We need to convince him you don't know anything about Max. That you don't know aliens exist, either. And that threatening you isn't going to get him what he wants." 

"Which is for you to join with him." 

"Yeah," he bit out sourly. 

"So we tell him you don't really care about me," she offered. "That I'm worthless as a bargaining chip." 

"And then he kills you and buries you in the desert," Michael said, his voice glum. "No, we have to come up with a way of making him _want_ to get rid of you, but not hurt you." He brightened. "You could put on your old 'Queen Isabel' act. Annoy him into it." 

"And that stops him from killing me how?" she asked acidly. 

Michael shrugged. "It never made me do it." 

She gave him a pointed look but didn't comment. Instead, she asked, "What kept him from killing Maria and her mother?" 

"I said I'd go with him if he didn't," Michael admitted. "Plus I told him the Sheriff was a good friend of Mrs. DeLuca's, and he would get suspicious if anything happened to her." 

"We could tell him the Sheriff's my friend, too." 

With a snort, Michael shot back, "Oh yeah, the town Sheriff is good friends with a seventeen-year-old girl. He'll sure buy that. At least Mrs. DeLuca is old." He ran his hands through his hair, as if it would jump-start his brain into coming up with a decent plan. Rather surprisingly, it seemed to work. "I never said your name. He has no idea who you are." 

"So?" 

"So we tell him you're someone the Sheriff _would_ care about. His kid," he said in growing excitement. Yeah. Yeah, this might work. 

Isabel apparently didn't think so. "The Sheriff only has one child. And I hardly think I could be mistaken for his son, Michael," she pointed out. 

"Bob might not know that," Michael said stubbornly. 

"But what if he does?" 

Michael barely held in a frustrated groan. Here he'd finally come up with a great plan--okay, not a _great_ one, but a semi-decent one--so why did Isabel have to be so negative? Fine. She could come up with all the roadblocks she wanted; it wouldn't stop him. It was a good plan, if they could pull it off. And--he smirked inwardly as a solution occurred to him. 

"Then we give him something close enough that he'll think he just heard wrong," he said, his tone nonchalant. 

"Meaning?" 

One corner of Michael's mouth twitched upwards, ever so slightly. "You're now the Sheriff's only kid, Kyla Isabel Valenti."  
  
  
*****  


Maria's fingers trembled from a combination of nerves and excitement as she fumbled with the buttons of her pajama top. Liz and Tess had opted to stay in their street clothes--and there wasn't anything in the DeLuca household to fit the three guys--but Maria figured that her flannel pajamas had worked before, so what could they hurt now? Maybe they'd be lucky. 

Wadding her street clothes into a ball, she took a last glance in the bathroom mirror and gave herself a deliberately reassuring smile before heading down the hall towards the bedroom. The others were conversing in pairs: Max and Liz, and somewhat less tensely, Kyle and Tess. Alex was standing in front of her mirror, studying Michael's scrawled message. He seemed to be controlling his concern over Isabel's disappearance, at least enough to make an attempt at humor. 

"Nice love letter, 'Ria," he commented as she entered. 

"I know," she responded with a smile. "And given that it's Michael, it's probably the only one I'll ever get." She tossed her pile of clothing into the hamper. "Do you think I should have it bronzed?" 

He returned her smile with an Alex-grin of his own. 

By the desk, Kyle took one look at the faded sheep printed on her nightwear, and snorted. "Hey DeLuca. Love the pajamas. No wonder you have the guys falling all over you," he teased. 

Surprisingly, Tess chided him. "Shut up, Kyle," she said, sounding very human. 

"Yeah, shut up, Kyle," Maria echoed. "I'm comfortable in these. Besides, I'd wear your football uniform and a clown wig if it would help Michael and Isabel. And it's not like Michael hasn't already seen them." 

Kyle's ears pricked up, and he gave her a knowing smile. "Well, well. Way to go, DeLuca! Or should I say way to go, Guerin?" 

The three girls spoke as one. "Shut up, Kyle!" 

"Are you ready?" Max asked, breaking into the burgeoning spat. 

"Yeah, I think so." Maria picked up Michael's blue crystal from the dresser and sat on the edge of her bed. She could feel her stomach tense. 

Liz sat next to her and took her other hand. "Don't be too upset if it doesn't work," she said softly, squeezing it. "He might not even be asleep. We'll come up with something else." 

Maria refused to even consider the thought that she might not succeed. She gave the others a confident smile. "Oh, it'll work, all right. The only question is, which do I do first: hug Michael for saving Mom and me, or slap him silly for getting himself hurt?" 

Tess didn't seem to realize that part of this bravado came directly from the shakiness of Maria's nerves. "First you should find out where he is," she said quite seriously. 

"Good point." Maria punched up her pillow and lay down stiffly. She closed her eyes. 

A scant moment later, she opened them. "Guys, I'm not used to having an audience while I sleep." 

"Just pretend it's a slumber party like you and Alex and I used to have," suggested Liz. 

"Whitman, you used to go to slumber parties?" demanded Kyle. "Wuss." 

Alex looked over at him, not at all disturbed. "I was spending the night with girls. What were you doing?" 

Much to Liz's amusement, Kyle shut up. 

From her position on the bed, Maria said petulantly, "Well, could you at least turn out the light?" Max, being closest to the door, flicked the switch off, and the room darkened. Everyone's eyes were immediately drawn to the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. She'd gotten them on impulse during one of her off-again stages with Michael. They reminded her of him. 

"Those are new," Alex said thoughtfully. 

"So?" Maria said, just a tad defensively. "I like them, okay?" She could hear a muffled snicker from Alex's corner of the room, but did her best to ignore it. With a loud sigh, she closed her eyes and willed herself to fall asleep.  
  
  
*****  


"You've got to be kidding." 

"Nope. He's not going to want anything interfering with training me," Michael explained. "Having the whole Roswell police force out looking for the Sheriff's missing kid could get in the way of that. The best thing is to let you go." 

"And what's to stop me from telling everyone where you are?" Isabel said, playing devil's advocate. 

"So he blindfolds you before he drops you off somewhere," Michael suggested. He gave her a rather aggravated look. "Of course, if you prefer I can suggest he hits you over the head again instead." 

"No, no. A blindfold is good," she said hastily. There was a moment of silence. "Michael, do you really think this is going to work?" 

He didn't meet her eyes. "It has to." 

Both of them subsided into their own thoughts. Finally, Isabel spoke softly. "Michael, how are you going to get out of this? Maybe I should stay and help." 

He shook his head. "No. You can't," he said firmly. "You need to get back and make sure Max is protected. And keep Maria from looking for me." 

"Do you think she will?" 

"I left her a note not to. But since when has she listened to me?" he said gloomily, beginning to fidget with his rings. "She's probably already organizing a posse." 

"Would that be so bad?" 

"Hell, yes!" Michael said with conviction. "Other than the fact that we've got to keep Bob away from Max, I don't know how to fight him. But it's only gonna make it harder if I have to worry about everyone else while I'm doing it." 

"What if you can't do it by yourself? What if he kills you?" she said bluntly. 

"He won't." 

"But what if--" 

Michael's voice overrode hers. "Max is the king. He's gotta save a whole planet full of people, remember? He's not gonna be able to do that if someone comes along and takes him out. So it's my job to keep that from happening." 

She studied him carefully. "So you do care about our planet," she said quietly. 

"Yeah. I guess I do." He scratched one eyebrow, hoping his expression wasn't as sheepish as he felt. 

"So you've just decided you're expendable?" she pressed again. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of you?" 

Michael laughed. "Look, I'm not bucking to get myself hurt here. I know what that's like, Iz; Hank taught me that a long time ago." Somehow the fact that he was admitting anything so personal didn't really bother him. It seemed trivial in retrospect. "And I don't think dying would be any more fun. There's a lot of things I hate about my life, but I'm not trying to take the quick way out. It's just...it's my father who's doing this. I'm the one who should deal with it." 

"What about me?" 

"No way. You come under the category of people I care about, remember? Besides, Max would skin me if I let anything happen to you." 

Isabel sat for a moment. "Well then, what about Nasedo?" 

"What about him?" 

"Maybe he knows something about this other alien. Maybe he could help." 

"Come off it, Iz. He doesn't trust me. He thinks I'm dangerous. So why would he give any help to someone who he thinks is betraying Max?" 

She shrugged delicately. 

"Look, it's late," he said. "We know what we're gonna do; we just gotta wait for Bob to make an appearance. Until then, I'm gonna get some sleep." Pulling off his jacket, he folded it into an approximation of a pillow and stretched out on the floor. Through his closed eyes, he could sense her studying him. He didn't move, forcing himself to breathe evenly. After a while, he heard the bedsprings creak as she lay down. 

He hadn't really intended to sleep; he'd just wanted to stop talking in circles about everything. But the leftover sedative in his system and his headache combined to put him out, and he quickly lost his hold on consciousness. 

His dreams were confused, troubling...filled with the sort of tumultuous images he'd experienced after Bob had unblocked his mind. The hunger for violence that he'd controlled since awakening played itself out in bloody and horrific nightmares. He moved restlessly in his sleep, muttering. 

He couldn't have said how long he dreamed, but the rattle of a key in the door's lock woke him with a start. Finally free of the drug he'd been given, he knew immediately where he was and what was happening. Bob had returned. 

Showtime.  
  
  
*****  


Cautiously, Liz sidled over closer to Max. "I don't think this is going to get the job done," she whispered. 

"Give it a little time," Max suggested. "She hasn't been asleep very long." 

Sitting on the floor by Maria's dresser, Alex looked up from the pool of light he was shining idly on the pages of one of Maria's fashion magazines. "She's not asleep," he said, not bothering to keep his voice down. 

Maria sat up and reached for the switch on her bedside lamp. "Well, maybe if I had some peace and quiet--" she began before interrupting herself. "Oh, who do I think I'm fooling?" she demanded rather hysterically. "All I had to do was go to sleep. How difficult is that? Easy. A baby could do it. Babies _do_ do it. But me? No, of course not. Oh well, it's not as if we didn't have loads of other ways to contact Michael and find out where they are so we can help them. It doesn't matter at all that I...just...can't...do it!" 

"Chill," ordered Kyle, not unkindly. Alex stood and began to look through the vials on Maria's dresser. 

"I'm all out," she told him. "I don't think there's a bottle of cedar oil left in the entire state of New Mexico--yet another Michael Guerin-induced shortage," she said dramatically. 

"It's all right, 'Ria," Liz protested. "Isabel will dreamwalk someone and let us know where they are." 

Maria sat upright. "How can she dreamwalk us when we aren't even asleep?" she shouted. Flinging herself back onto her pillow, she screwed up her face in concentration and tried to force herself to sleep. Not surprisingly, it didn't work. 

"Max," Liz said suddenly. "Can't you put her out like you did Michael when we had to get him out of his head?" 

Tess and Kyle exchanged puzzled glances, and the jock said, "For being Liz Parker, you're not making a whole heck of a lot of sense there, Liz." 

But Maria knew immediately what her friend was talking about, and jumped on the idea. "That's it!" she exclaimed. "Do it, Max. Come on, come on. I don't have all day here." 

He took a step over to her. "Are you sure?" 

"I trust you," she said indignantly. "Besides, you did it to Michael. If he could take it, I can take it." She closed her eyes and waited breathlessly. 

"You might want to breathe," Max said, with a hint of a smile in his voice. "Oxygen is a good thing." 

The corners of her mouth lifted, but she didn't open her eyes. Instead, she concentrated on breathing in and out slowly, evenly. She welcomed the light touch of Max's hand on her forehead. She let herself relax a bit, sure that Max would come through, and her slide into slumber was almost unnoticeable. 

The sound of gently lapping water was what finally caught her attention, and she opened her eyes to find herself in an idyllic clearing, with unbelievably lush green grass, and sunlight dappling the ground around her. Not far away, a waterfall trickled down past lichen-covered rocks to end in an almost endless shining pool of water that played at her feet. The scent of honeysuckle filled the air. 

"Great," Maria muttered, her hands on her flannel-clad hips. It was about as far from Michael's typical dream desert and the round room where they usually met as it could get. Well, no. It could be snowing. 

She slowly turned in a circle, trying to get a feel for Michael's direction. He was there, she was sure of it. It wasn't the tingle that heralded his approach in the waking world, but more an inner certainty. And unfortunately, it told her that he was across the water, in the direction of the falls. 

She moved closer to the pool, until her hibiscus-polished toes hovered over the water. "Great," she repeated. "All I need is a rowboat and somebody very strong to row it." But neither were forthcoming. With a shrug, she stepped into the water. It was cold. Figured. So she'd get wet. It was just dream water, right? She wasn't really wet; she was just dreaming it. With determination, she moved forward; the water quickly rose to her knees. 

Undaunted, she kept forging ahead. She was almost two-thirds of the way to the waterfall when she realized the water was still hovering at knee level. Surely it should be over her head by now...maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all. 

A hundred or so more yards of slogging through the pool, and she was standing at the foot of the falls, looking up. Even though the top seemed to get father and farther away, and the water pounded down more furiously each minute, the spray didn't land anywhere near her. From her knees up, she was totally dry. 

Okay, now how to get to the top? No ladder, no obliging helicopter standing by...but she wasn't about to let that stop her. This was her dream, right? Isabel and Michael had proven they could affect things in their own dreams, so why couldn't she? Of course she couldn't just wave her hand and have things happen...or maybe she could. 

"I need a way up," she said smartly to the rushing water in front of her. And that was all it took. The stream of water pulled back on one side, and a series of step-like protrusions appeared in the rocks. Her way up, just like magic. 

Grinning, she moved towards the bottom-most step, the water splashing around her knees as she sloshed forward. She put one hand out to steady herself for the start of the climb. Then something inside her made her stop. 

Why settle for an arduous climb, in bare feet no less? This was her dream, after all. Throwing any remaining shred of doubt behind her, she walked directly towards the center of the waterfall. And like Moses, the waters parted before her. She stepped from dancing blue water onto smooth dry stone. 

And a door appeared before her. 

A very familiar door, with dark wooden geometric carvings depicting almost-but-not-quite recognizable pictures. The door behind which she'd first found the dream room she shared with Michael. Joyfully she strode towards it, only barely noticing that her pajama legs were now dry. That didn't matter; only that she could sense him now. Michael was behind that door. 

Smoothing her hair down, she ignored the fact that she was primping for him. Her hand reached out eagerly to turn the doorknob. 

Which wasn't there. 

She blinked her eyes and looked again. Yes, this was the same door, she was positive of it. But where was the handle? Determined not to let that stand in her way, she put her palms flat on the wood and pushed. 

Nothing. 

Fine. Michael would just have to open the door from the other side, then. No biggie. She licked her lips, set her shoulders, and knocked. 

"Michael? It's me." 

No response. 

"Come on, Michael. I know you're in there; I can feel you, remember? I need to talk to you." 

Not so much as a sound from the other side of the door. But surely he wouldn't be keeping her out on purpose, would he? That had been the deal: she'd leave him alone on the outside, but in this room, he was fair game. 

"Please, Michael," she begged. "We need to know where you and Isabel are. Please. Please let me help you." All the happiness faded from her face. "Let me in." 

But nothing--not her pleading, not her threats, not her pounding on the door until her hands felt bruised--nothing ever got through, because the door never opened, and Michael never answered. 

Silent tears were rolling down Maria's cheeks as she finally woke up in her own bedroom. She ignored them, choosing to lie silently for a moment. 

"What happened?" asked Tess, sounding like she had a fair idea it wasn't good. 

Maria didn't answer her; instead she rose and moved to the mirror. Ignoring her own reflection in the dim light of the bedside lamp, she reached out to touch the words Michael had scrawled on the glass. 

_Don't look for me._ But how could she not? 

"I couldn't get in," she said softly, not turning around to face the others. "I found the door to our room, but I couldn't get in." She was quiet for moment. "I don't know if he was keeping me out on purpose, or if Bob...if Bob did something to him, and he couldn't let me in," she whispered. 

"It's okay," Alex told her, forcing confidence into his voice. "Isabel will let us know where they are. We just have to wait for her." 

And the timing couldn't have been better if they'd planned it. It was at that very moment that a loud knocking sounded on the DeLucas' front door. Five teenagers stared at Alex, as if his words had conjured up the sound; then the six of them raced out of Maria's room and towards the front door. 

It wouldn't have been unexpected for Kyle, West Roswell's star athlete, to get there first, but two genetically enhanced aliens and a frantically determined Maria barreled past him and left him--not to mention Liz and Alex--in the proverbial dust. The three of them reached the front door just in time to see Max swing it open and a figure stumble through the doorway. 

None of them said a word. 

Standing before them was a somewhat frightened, uncharacteristically disheveled, and extremely annoyed Isabel Evans.  
  
  



	26. Chapter 26

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 26**_

The other teens had long since left to go to their respective houses to get ready for school, but Maria lingered as long as possible in her room. The events of the preceding afternoon and the strain of the sleepless night hadn't left her in any shape for the mother-daughter talk that she knew was coming. That she dreaded, actually. When she finally left her room, she hoped to dart out through the kitchen and avoid the ruckus. 

Unfortunately, leaving wasn't so easy. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in jeans and a baggy sweater. Her good hand was wrapped around a cup of herbal tea, but she wasn't drinking, just staring into space. 

She didn't look like she'd gotten any more sleep than Maria had. 

Clutching the strap of her book bag, Maria tried to brazen her way through like it was any other day. Casually she grabbed an apple from a bowl on the counter and headed to the door. She didn't get far. 

"Maria." 

She didn't turn back around. "I've got school, Mom." 

"That can wait. I think we need to talk." 

Maria faced her mother and shrugged. "Unless you're ready to let me help Michael, we don't have anything to talk about." 

Amy sighed. "I think we do." 

"I have English, Mom." 

With a shake of her head, Amy said, "As a matter of fact, you don't. I already called the school and told them you'd be late this morning." 

"Oh." Maria reluctantly plopped into a chair with a thud, setting her apple and book bag rather more gently on the table in front of her. She noticed in passing that they both had unconsciously avoided the chairs Michael had tied them to. A shiver ran down her spine. 

Her mother seemed as reluctant to start the conversation as Maria was, but after a moment, she asked, "Do you want some breakfast?" 

"I'm not hungry." 

"No, I don't suppose you are." Amy toyed with her now lukewarm tea. "Is Isabel all right?" 

"Shaken up, but she's okay," Maria said tersely. Her fingers played with the bracelet she wore, turning it around and around on her wrist. The repetitive motion should have been soothing, but wasn't. 

Her mother was going to have to physically pry any more words from Maria. She certainly wasn't going to volunteer anything. And sure enough, Amy didn't back off. "Did she know where Michael was?" she asked evenly. 

Maria felt pure defeat wash over her. "No. As far as the world is concerned, Michael's just reverting to type and is blowing off school." She heard the bitterness in her tone and clamped her lips together to keep from saying more. 

Amy took a sip of tepid tea. "Actually, that's not true. I told the school he was home sick--stomach flu." 

Maria's jaw dropped, and she stared numbly at her mother. "You what?" 

"I had to call them about you, anyway." 

There was a moment of silence, then Maria shook her head. "I don't get you, Mom." 

"I've done a lot of thinking in the past...oh, eleven and a half hours. And what I finally came to, about four-thirty this morning, is that right now it doesn't matter what you feel about Michael, or how he's treated you." 

"Mom--" 

"No, let me finish. Sometimes you just have to do what's right. And I think, in this case, what is right is to help. Michael needs it; whether or not he deserves it is insignificant. I won't say this whole thing doesn't scare me to death; it does. By the very nature of what he is, Michael Guerin is dangerous, and he could wind up getting you--or someone else--killed. But he's also in trouble, and to ignore that--to sit blindly by--that would make us less human than he is." 

"He does deserve help, Mom. He--" 

"I'm not going to get in that discussion right now. Neither of us is ready to talk about it calmly, and I don't want to fight about it. I know what lies down that path, and it's losing you. I'm not going to let that happen to us." 

Maria sat quietly for a moment, then said, "Like it did with your parents?" 

Amy met her eyes honestly. "I wound up pregnant and married at eighteen, cut off from my family. I don't want that for you." 

"I don't, either." 

A tiny smile crossed Amy's face. "Good." 

Maria looked down at the table. "So what does all of this mean?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. 

Amy took a deep breath. "It means I'm not going to stand in the way of you helping Michael." 

"Oh, Mom!" Maria burst out, moving to hug her. 

Her mother put a hand out. "However, there are some conditions." 

"What conditions?" Maria said suspiciously. 

"You are not to go rushing off half-cocked without discussing it with Sheriff Valenti or me first. If either of us tells you to do something--or not to do something--you are to obey without argument. You are not to lie to me, or conveniently 'forget' to tell me what's going on. You are not to miss school. Above all, you are to be very, very careful. We'll get Michael out of this fix. Because if everything he said--and Max said--is true, then he needs help. But afterwards, the three of us need to talk," Amy warned. 

"Okay," Maria answered, refusing to think about that at this point. 

"Also," her mother added, "you're not doing any of this without me." 

Maria looked at her in surprise. "Mom?" she squeaked. 

Amy shrugged. "I figure Michael can't help but make it through with two DeLucas working on his behalf. Do we have a deal?" 

In a bound, Maria was off the chair and in her mother's arms. "Thanks, Mom," she whispered. 

Her mother's grip tightened. "Just be careful. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you." Maria nodded. 

"I will. I promise." 

Pulling back, Amy smoothed Maria's hair off her forehead. "It's hard for me to see how grown up you are sometimes. In less than a year, you'll be eighteen. I need to start trusting in your judgment a little." She smiled, a little sadly. "But that doesn't mean you won't always be my little girl." 

"I know, Mom. I love you." 

With a last squeeze, Amy released her daughter. "Now how about some breakfast with me? You have time before second period, and I think I can manage some one-handed waffles," she tempted. 

Maria smiled. "Yeah. Waffles sound great."  
  
  
*****  


Almost immediately, Michael was on his feet. The door swung open, not enough to let him see outside the room, but enough for Bob to slip through. The alien was holding a brown paper sack which he tossed at Michael. 

Michael caught it instinctively, but didn't take his eyes off the creature in front of him. 

"It's just breakfast," Bob said cheerfully. "We have to keep your strength up for your training. So," he added, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "Did everyone sleep all right?" 

From her seat on the bed, Isabel didn't answer. But almost unconsciousely, Michael's eyes flicked back to the spot on the concrete where his makeshift pillow still lay. Bob didn't miss it. "So, she made you sleep on the floor, did she?" he asked, sounding more than a little amused. 

Michael allowed some of his annoyance to show on his face. "She wasn't real wild about being hit over the head and kidnapped," he grated out. He glanced over to the bed. Isabel was still sitting, wearing a peeved expression. 

"So I see," returned Bob. 

Michael decided it was now or never. "Look, we need to talk," he said, moving closer to the older alien, who didn't seem at all threatened by his approach. Michael lowered his voice. "There's something you should know about her," he said, trying his best to sound open and honest. "Taking her was a stupid move. She's Sheriff Valenti's daughter." 

Bob raised one eyebrow speculatively. "You're dating the Sheriff's daughter?" 

"Maybe I like to live dangerously," Michael said with a shrug. 

"And why should her identity concern me?" Bob asked, seemingly unperturbed by the news. 

"Because he's probably already got the whole department out looking for her," Michael explained, not too patiently. "They're gonna get in your way." 

Bob studied him for a moment. "And that would probably be of concern if we were anywhere near Roswell," he said. He smiled mockingly. "But we're not." 

They weren't? Just how long had he been unconscious, anyway? "Then where are we?" 

"Oh, I don't think that really matters, does it? Once you've accepted your duties, you won't care; and until then, there's no reason to give you any unnecessary information, is there?" 

Michael could feel his tension rising. "Just let her go. You don't need her, and I'm already sick of her whining." 

Isabel spoke up for the first time. "You're sick of _my_ whining? God, Michael, you should count yourself lucky that _whining_ is all I've done. You've had some stupid ideas before, but if you think I'm going to spend another minute in this rattrap, you've got another think coming," she ranted. Queen Isabel in action. Michael was proud. 

"Come on, let her go," he said. "She's gonna drive me crazy." 

But Bob was shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. A hostage is a hostage. And somehow I don't think you're quite as willing to work with me as you seem." 

Michael's fists clenched; he didn't even care that he was still holding the brown bag and that it was getting squashed. But again, Bob didn't miss it. 

"Aren't you going to eat your breakfast, after I went to all that trouble?" Michael, feeling grim, didn't answer. He was seriously considering giving in to his ever-increasing need for violent action and jumping the guy, Isabel's safety be damned. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to pound that annoying smirk off the other alien's face. 

But he couldn't chance it. Carefully, he bent down and placed the sack on the floor by his feet, then stood, arms crossed, and stared at Bob in defiance. 

"No? Not hungry? Well then, you can leave it for your little girlfriend here," Bob said, still infuriatingly calm. He pointed at the faded wallpaper. "Up against the wall," he instructed. When Michael didn't budge, he shook his head. "Fine," he said, and with a quick movement pulled a small metallic device out of his pocket and aimed it. An arc of greenish light flickered from the device, and Michael collapsed to his knees, breathing hard. His heart pounded. He wasn't sure, but he felt like he'd just been electrocuted. 

Within a matter of moments, Bob had hauled him to his feet, strong-armed him face-first towards the wall, and secured his hands behind his back. Michael recognized the feeling of cold metal on his wrists; he'd been handcuffed once before, when he'd been arrested for breaking into the UFO museum in his search for information on James Atherton. He hadn't liked it then, either. 

"You really should have eaten," the other alien said as he pulled a black cloth sack over Michael's head, blinding him. Michael had a sudden claustrophobic understanding of how people felt before being put in front of a firing squad. "You'll be hungry before the day is over." 

Michael didn't bother trying to struggle as Bob grabbed him by the back of the shirt and propelled him across the room, but he heard Isabel protest. 

"Where are you taking him?" she demanded. "Hey, I am talking to you, you can't just--" and then her voice faded away into unintelligibility as a door slammed between them. Michael heard the tumblers of the lock click, and then he was pushed forward again. He could hear Isabel pounding on the door behind them. Bob had left her alone, not realizing that she, having powers that actually worked on command, would be able to get out of the locked room. He would just have to keep Bob distracted long enough for her to get out of there. And hope the alien was working alone. 

Michael wasn't sure of how much time passed, but he guessed it was about nine or ten minutes before they got wherever they were going. A sudden strong push had him stumbling forward, and he barely had time to regain his balance before he felt the handcuff loosen on his left wrist. Instinctively he swung around, his right hand shooting out in front of him and his left darting up to rip the bag from his head. 

Bob was standing several feet away from him, the same annoying smile on his face. "You can't hurt me, boy. A side benefit of the serum I gave you last night--it blocks your powers. And they'll stay that way until I decide otherwise." He smiled cunningly at Michael. "Go ahead. Try it." 

Regarding him through narrowed eyes, Michael didn't move. He also didn't try to use his powers; they weren't reliable anyway, although he hoped to keep that fact from his father. And he wasn't going to give the other alien the malicious satisfaction of seeing him try and fail. Slowly he lowered his outstretched hand and looked around the room. 

It had the same concrete floor as the room he'd awakened in, but the walls were also concrete. Even the ceiling. The one door was a thick, sturdily-made metal door with no handle. A faint hum from one of the overhead fluorescent tubes turned to a loud buzz as it flickered and died. The only piece of furniture in the large space was a slightly dented metal folding chair. 

"Sit down," Bob instructed. 

Michael raised his chin. "I'd rather stand." 

"I'm sure you would. But you're not the one giving the orders, now are you?" Bob pulled the electroshock device he'd used on Michael out of his pocket and held it up. "Want to reconsider?" 

Hell, yeah. Feeling his jaw tense, Michael moved slowly backward without taking his glance off the other alien. When he felt the chair hit the back of his legs, he sank into it. 

"That's better," Bob said in satisfaction. Michael crossed his arms, ignoring the handcuffs that still dangled from his right wrist. 

"So now what?" he demanded, refusing to show his apprehension. 

The other alien looked down at him, his expression clearly indicating that he didn't consider Michael terribly bright. "Your training, of course." 

Michael had seen that expression before, on a number of other faces. Usually teachers and school administrators, and the occasional student who'd bothered to look in his direction. He was used to it; it didn't particularly bother him now. "Which means what?" 

"Which means I'm going to enjoy myself." His father leered down at him. "Somehow I don't particularly think you will, though."  
  
  
*****  


By mutual consent, the group gathered in the back of an empty classroom for lunch. None of them had stopped at the cafeteria, but enough of them had brown-bagged it for everyone to munch on something. Maria watched glumly as Alex grabbed a barbecue chip from the open bag in front of him and passed the bag to Kyle. How could they eat at a time like this? She turned back to Isabel. 

"I told you last night," Isabel was saying. "I don't _know_ what happened. Alex and I split up to flank the house, and the next thing I knew, I woke up stashed in somebody's trunk. It took a while to find the lock and open it. I went to Maria's as soon as I got out, but you all were already there." 

"And you didn't see who hit you?" asked Kyle. 

Isabel looked more than a little exasperated. "If I had, don't you think I would have told you?" 

"It wasn't Michael," Maria put in firmly. 

"No one is saying it was," Liz said soothingly. "I think it's more likely that it was Bob." 

Max shook his had. "But then why didn't they take her with them? Maria, you said he had no problem with taking hostages." 

"He didn't, not if he thought it would control Michael," Maria said, frowning. "But why wouldn't he want to take you, Isabel? If he's out to get Max, you'd be really valuable." 

"You said he didn't know who Max was. Maybe he doesn't know who I am, either," Isabel replied. 

Maria thought back to the previous afternoon. It was still so fresh in her mind, like it happened moments instead of hours earlier. Somehow Michael had convinced the other alien that she wasn't important to him, that someone else was. Unless Michael had a really vivid imagination, he probably was thinking about someone he knew. Which limited things to Liz, Tess and Isabel. She had her suspicions who he'd thought about. But she wasn't going to let it bother her. He thought of Isabel like a sister; she knew that. But still.... 

Tess spoke up. "The important question isn't who hit Isabel," she pointed out. "It's how we're going to find Michael." 

The group lapsed into gloomy silence. Neither Maria nor Isabel had had any success dreamwalking the previous night, and they didn't have a license plate number for the Sheriff to trace. 

"I'm afraid all we can do is keep trying to dreamwalk, and wait for Michael to get in touch with us," Max said finally. "It's like he's vanished off the face of the earth." 

"Maybe he has," said Kyle, through a mouthful of sandwich. At their looks of confusion, he explained, "Maybe Bob took him on his spaceship or something." 

The idea struck both Max and Liz, who looked at each other speculatively. "I'll head to the UFO museum after school," Max said. "See if there have been any recent sightings." 

"That's assuming Bob showed up recently and that he hasn't been hanging around since 1947," Liz said. 

Looking particularly grim, Max said, "Pierce told me there were two aliens who were captured back then. Nasedo was one, but he escaped; the other was held for three years. I thought he died." He turned to Tess. "Did Nasedo ever say anything about other aliens?" he asked. 

She shook her head. "Nothing concrete," she answered. "He mostly spoke about the three of you." 

Maria abandoned her uneaten lunch and began to pace back and forth. "I can't stand this. How are we expected to just go to class and act like everything's all right? It isn't all right!" 

"Too bad you just can't get a pack of bloodhounds to track him down," said Kyle off the cuff. 

Maria froze in her tracks and slowly turned to Isabel, who was staring back at her. They spoke at the same time. 

"Do you think--" 

"That might--" 

Cutting off, they both began to smile. With a happy skip, Maria ran over to Kyle and kissed him soundly on the lips. 

"What was that for?" he asked in consternation. 

"Because you're a genius!" she sang out. "We don't need to dreamwalk. If he's still on this planet, I can find him!"  
  
  
*****  


Hours later, Michael slumped forward in the chair, barely able to hold his head up. Bob hadn't lied when he'd told Michael he wasn't going to enjoy it. The bastard had seemed to take total pleasure in what he was putting Michael through. 

He'd latched onto Michael's face, palm spread over the mark on his cheek, and ruthlessly forced Michael's mind open. It hadn't been quite as much of a shock as it had been the previous day, but it hadn't been fun. Or anything near fun. The pictures he'd seen, three-dimensional living images, had sickened him to his very soul. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what Bob thought he was going to accomplish by it. It wasn't making him want to go out and recreate what he saw; indeed, it had just the opposite effect. 

Somehow, he'd managed to keep his mental wall built up, keeping the other alien from tromping about in his inner thoughts. Bob had looked at him rather oddly several times throughout the day, but had seemed tireless in pursuit of his goal. Frankly, Michael wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. But then again, Isabel had had plenty of time to escape. 

He raised his eyes to look across the room at Bob. "So how much more of this can I expect?" he said, managing somehow to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. 

He was pleased to see that, rather than wearing his self-confident, annoying smile, Bob looked a little unsure of himself. But the alien blustered on, "As long as it takes." 

"Having problems getting me to cooperate?" Michael goaded him. "What a shame." He met Bob's eyes squarely. "Guess I'm not quite the chip off the old block you hoped for, huh?" Sometimes being a smartass just felt good. 

And sometimes it paid off. Bob seemed more than a little put out. "Up against the wall," he ordered, his calm demeanor somewhat worse for wear. 

Michael rose to his feet and moved slowly towards the wall in front of him, hoping he was hiding his weakness. He didn't protest when Bob pushed him rather roughly into the concrete. 

"Arms," the alien barked, and Michael obediently put his arms behind him for the dangling handcuff to be fastened around his left wrist. He didn't struggle when the black bag was dropped over his head, either. Bob was probably taking him back to the other room. At least he hoped so. Then he could get some much-needed rest and try to regain enough energy to take the other alien on. Besides, he was kind of looking forward to seeing Bob's reaction when he realized Isabel was nowhere to be found. 

Beneath the black cloth, his lips twitched upwards. He stumbled twice as he was propelled out of the room, but it didn't change his expression. Not even being shoved against a wall hard enough to bruise his cheek--the unmarked one--wiped the smirk off his face. However, he did school his features as the bag was pulled from his head. Blinking, he waited until the handcuffs were removed; then he turned around... 

...and his heart sank. 

Standing by the closet door was a rather apologetic-looking Isabel Evans, who should have been on her way to protect Max, to keep Maria away. Isabel Evans, who had not escaped.  
  
  



	27. Chapter 27

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 27**_

He barely took notice of his father's needling comments about his inability to do what was demanded of him and his utter unworthiness to fulfill his duties. Even if he hadn't been too tired to care, he still wouldn't have. But he was tired and hungry and soul-sick, and the hope that had gotten him through the day, the hope that Isabel had been able to get out, that hope had been jolted out of him, leaving him feeling hollow. 

Not to mention a little pissed off. 

Impatiently, Michael waited for the door to close and lock behind Bob, then waited a few more minutes for good measure to make sure the other alien had gone away to do whatever the bad guys do when they're not busy torturing their children. Then he turned to Isabel, who had moved across the room and was sitting nonchalantly on the end of the bed. 

Michael swallowed his frustration as best he could, but some of his heightened emotion still leaked into his voice. "What happened?" he demanded rather abruptly. 

Isabel's forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean, 'what happened'?" she asked in puzzlement. 

"Come off it, Iz. We were gone for hours," he grated out. "Why the hell didn't you get out of here?" He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down, and forced his voice to steady. "Did you get caught? Are there guards?" he asked, trying to understand. 

"No, I got out," Isabel answered. "I scouted around a bit--" 

Michael cut into her statement. "Then why the hell are you still here?" he shouted. 

"Calm down, Michael. You--" 

But he wasn't listening. "We had an agreement, Isabel! We had a plan. You were gonna get out of here and warn Max." 

"I wasn't about to leave you here," Isabel said firmly. "We'll fight Bob together." 

"I don't want to fight him together. I want you gone!" 

Isabel rose gracefully from the bed and crossed to him, looking him straight in the eyes. In the boots she wore, she didn't seem all that much shorter than he was. "You aren't the boss here, Michael. You don't really have a say in what I do or don't do." 

"Dammit, Isabel! I don't need you here, getting hurt!" Michael wheeled around and pounded the wall with his fist. He added a second blow for good measure before turning back to her. "Wait a minute. I'm second-in-command, right? Well, since I don't see Max anywhere around, I'd say that does make me the boss here. So get over there and unlock the door," he ordered, his mind spinning a slightly revised plan. "Get back to Roswell. When Bob comes back, I'll cover for you. Say you're in the can or something. That should hold him off for a little while." 

"I don't think you--" 

"I mean it, Isabel. Get the hell out of here," Michael commanded. Not willing to wait another second, he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her over to the door. 

"I can't do that," she said, pulling her arm from his grasp. 

He could feel his grip on his temper beginning to slip again, just like his grip on her arm. "Why the hell not?" 

She looked at him unapologetically. "I can't. Let's leave it at that." 

"Did he give you the same serum stuff he gave me? He said it would block my powers." Michael shook his head, rejecting his own idea. "But he thinks you're human, so why would he--" He cut off abruptly and stared at her. A few vague memories and a suspicion or two clicked together in his mind, making a very unwelcome picture. "I'm a fucking idiot," he said slowly. 

"What?" 

"I should have known before. If I'd just thought about it for a minute...you were a little too ready to agree with me last night." He backed a few steps away from her. "Who are you?" 

"Michael, you've known me forever. Why are you acting like this? What did Bob do to you?" Isabel asked, concern in her voice. 

"Nice try," Michael said, his face hard. "But not good enough. I figure you're a shapeshifter, right? So who are you? You working with my father?" 

"He's not your father." 

Michael stared at the all-too-familiar face in front of him. "What?" he half-whispered. 

"He's not your father," Isabel repeated. 

Michael felt his stomach clench. God, if only it were true. He so badly wanted not to have a father who would do the kinds of things Bob had done to him. Hank had been more than enough for one lifetime. "How do you know?" he asked, afraid to hope too much. 

Before him, Isabel put out one hand and shimmered in a sudden light, growing broader, balder, and considerably less vibrant. "Because I knew your father," said Nasedo.  
  
  
*****  


With a flourish, Maria turned off her cell phone and dropped it into her book bag. "All set," she said, her tone businesslike. 

Isabel smiled at her and shifted the Jeep into drive. "Which way?" 

"I don't know. Let's...let's start out by the pod cave," Maria suggested for want of a better idea. "We'll just drive around and see if I can sense him." 

Isabel glanced in her side view mirror and then pulled out into the street. The wind whipping past the car as she drove blew a few stray strands of hair into her face. Maria watched as she gracefully pushed them back. Too bad they couldn't drive with the top up, but she was afraid it might block her from sensing Michael. She didn't want anything between her and the chance of finding him. To her relief, Isabel hadn't argued. Why should she? At least she'd worn a thick sweater under her jacket. 

Maria sat silently, hands clasped together, as she strained to sense something outside the confines of the Jeep. "He's going to be okay, you know," Isabel reassured her. 

A faint smile crossed Maria's lips. "He may survive Bob," she admitted with a trace of humor, "but I'm not so sure he'll survive my mother." 

"I can't believe she knows about us," Isabel said, a hint of a frown on her face. "All the times we swore to keep our secret, no matter what, and then Michael of all people goes and tells someone." 

"It wasn't his fault. He didn't really want to admit it, but the other alien--Bob--" She refused to acknowledge him as Michael's father. "Bob kind of forced him into it." 

Isabel nodded absently. "How is she dealing with it?" 

"Well, I didn't have to run away from home to be here," Maria answered, her voice wry. "So that's a good sign. She wants to help, if she can. I don't think she's afraid of you," she added candidly, "but she's afraid of what danger you might find yourselves in because of who you are, if that makes sense." 

Isabel probably wasn't that blasé about it herself. She was quiet for a few moments, then asked, "What if she'd found out you _were_ an alien, not just involved with them?" 

Maria turned to look at her, but Isabel kept her eyes on the road, not meeting her gaze. Maria tried to give her an honest answer. "Most of her fear is because she loves me," she thought out loud. "I don't think that would change, no matter what I told her." She paused. "You want to tell your mother, don't you." It wasn't really a question, but Isabel nodded. 

"I've wanted to tell her for as long as I can remember. But Max and Michael always said no." 

"Maybe Max and Michael are wrong," observed Maria. 

"Don't you think I've thought about that, a million times? But Max was always so adamant about our safety, especially after Liz found out, and then the rest of you. And Michael--Michael doesn't understand what it's like not to be able to tell her. He once said there's no such thing as unconditional love." 

Maria smiled. "Well, Michael's still learning about stuff." She glanced towards Isabel and added, "And genius memory or not, he can sometimes take the _longest_ time to catch on to things." 

Isabel laughed a little. "I know what you mean," she said ruefully. 

"Maybe you should talk to them again," suggested Maria. "Once this is all over, I mean." 

"Maybe." Isabel sounded like she wanted to believe it. "But there's a lot to get through before then," she added. "Like find Michael, and figure out why he's been such a jackass lately." 

Maria flinched just the tiniest bit. She didn't know everything about what was going on in Michael's spiky head, but she knew more than Isabel. And, no matter how much she wanted to tell the other girl, she couldn't. She'd promised him. 

She clenched her teeth. See if she ever promised him something again. 

Oh, who was she kidding? She only hoped she'd have the chance to promise him something--anything--again. 

Blinking rapidly, she tried to bring her mind back into focus. She just had to concentrate on picking up his signal. 

The ringing of her cell phone jolted her out of her abstraction. Great. Her mother had been on the phone with her practically every hour throughout the day. And Maria had followed the rules, telling her she was heading out with Isabel after school to look for Michael...although she hadn't mentioned her ability to feel his presence when he was near. That was too personal. She didn't really even like the other members of the group knowing about it, although if it helped locate her stubborn semi-boyfriend it would be worth it. It had worked before, when she had to track him down in the dream world so they could get him out of the mental schizophrenia he'd forced on himself. But her mother _really_ didn't need to hear about that right now; she was already dealing with enough when it came to Michael. The point was, Maria had told her mother what she was doing. If she was calling again.... 

With some aggravation, she dug her cell phone back out of her book bag and answered it. Surprisingly--and much to her relief--it wasn't her mother. It was Liz. 

"Hey, Liz," Maria said, letting Isabel know who was calling. 

"I've only got a minute," her friend said. "It's a madhouse here." 

"How did your dad take my not showing up?" Maria asked. 

Liz's voice was reassuring. "I just told him you had some personal business to deal with, and I'd be covering for you until you had it taken care of." 

"But you have your own shifts--" 

"Don't worry about it, Maria. I have help," Liz said. Maria could hear her amusement. 

Maria's mind quickly ran through the rather scant possibilities. Isabel had filled in for Liz once, but she was obviously not at the Crashdown right now since she was playing chauffeur. Max had to work at the UFO Museum, and was going to take the opportunity to research any recent sightings. So there was only one possibility left. "Alex?" she guessed. 

"No. He's helping out at your mom's shop." 

"Don't tell me Agnes actually agreed--" 

Again, she could hear a burble of laughter in Liz's tone. "Nope." 

Maria searched her mind for another candidate and came up empty. "Who, then?" 

"You'll never guess--" Liz's voice cut off and Maria could clearly hear a scuffle on the other end of the line. 

"Liz--" she called urgently into the phone. "Are you--" 

"She's fine, DeLuca." The voice cut her off. 

She sat in stunned silence for a moment, then managed somehow to find her voice. "_Kyle?_" 

"I don't want to hear about it," he warned. 

"Kyle?" she said again, in disbelief. Isabel shot a confused glance in her direction. 

"Look, just tell us if you've found something yet so Liz can get back to work," he ordered. "The crowds are killing us here, and I've got a practice game against Junior Varsity tonight." 

"No such luck. Finding Michael, I mean, not having you killed. But we're just getting started." She let a mischievous grin spread across her lips. "So, Kyle...bet you look just adorable in your sparkly silver antennae," she teased. 

"I said I didn't want to hear about it," Kyle shot back. "And I'm not wearing the stupid uniform." 

Maria had a sudden image of Kyle in his basketball uniform, decked out in the headband and silver alien-head apron. She ruthlessly squashed the image before her imagination replaced his basketball uniform with the blue-green dress that completed her waitress outfit. Some things she just didn't want to see. Instead, she merely said, "Thanks, Kyle." 

"You owe me one, DeLuca. No, actually you owe me a lot." 

"Yeah, yeah. Got it. Tell Liz we'll call if we find anything. And I get half the tips." She quickly signed off before he could respond, and turned to Isabel. In a dramatic voice, she intoned, "I've been replaced by Kyle Valenti." 

"What?" Isabel laughed. 

"You heard me. I can say farewell to my long-held dream of becoming the Crashdown's number one waitress; Kyle has stolen my thunder." She gave a mock sniff. 

"You've got to be kidding." 

"No, I'm perfectly serious. But still..._Kyle_," Maria said, almost not believing it herself. 

"He's not that bad," Isabel commented. 

"What? Stalker boy, who followed Liz around all last year like a...like a stalker?" 

"He could have turned us in. He didn't." 

"Well, Max kind of saved his life." Maria rolled her eyes at Isabel's glance, but continued, "Yeah, okay, so he wouldn't have gotten shot in the first place if you guys weren't who you were. Are. Whatever. That doesn't mean I have to be best friends with him, does it? I mean, I already have two people tied for that spot." 

"It doesn't hurt to have as many friends as you can," Isabel pointed out as she pulled the Jeep up near the pod cave and put it into park. 

Maria gave her a sudden grin. "Look at that! Miss 'We Have To Keep Things Within Our Tightly Knit Group' Alien Secret Girl, putting forth the benefits of friendship. Who'd have thought?" 

"Yeah, well, people change. They grow," Isabel said loftily before both girls burst into laughter. 

"That felt good," Maria said as their hilarity died down. "I needed it." 

Sobering, Isabel nodded. "I know what you mean." She turned to survey the sand and rocks around them. "So, any sign of Michael?" 

Maria closed her eyes, wrinkling her face up in concentration. When she opened them, she looked defeated. "Nothing." 

"It's the first place we've looked," Isabel pointed out. 

"I know, it's just...." Maria grew quiet. 

"You hoped you'd be able to pick up the trail right away." 

"Yeah." Maria let out a deep breath, then straightened up. When she spoke again, her voice was determinedly cheerful. "Well, what are we waiting for? Time to track us down a Spaceboy."  
  
  
*****  


Michael didn't even blink at the sudden transformation. "You knew my father," he scoffed. 

"Yes." 

"See, the problem with that is, I have no reason to believe anything you say. You've already pretended to be Isabel; how do I know you're not pretending to be Nasedo?" 

"You don't," the shapeshifter responded. "But common sense should tell you--" 

Michael interrupted with a dry laugh. "You obviously didn't get the memo. Common sense? Not my strong suit. I'm much more likely to go with my gut, and what it's telling me is that you could be anyone. Hell, you could be working with Bob, trying to get information from me." A horrible thought hit him. "Goddammit! And I went and told you about Isabel, and Max--" He took a deliberate step towards the other alien. "You go anywhere near them, and I'll kill you myself." It wasn't an empty threat. 

The shapeshifter didn't look impressed, though. "I hardly think that's likely. Look at what you did to yourself the last time you killed someone--do you really want to end up like that again?" 

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Like what?" 

"Do you want to get stuck inside your own mind again? Rather dull company, if you ask me, and from what I understand, it took a human to get you out last time. What makes you think she'd be willing to help you out again?" 

"How--" Michael managed to put the pieces together. Max had told Nasedo about his self-inflicted dual-personality psychosis; no one else outside the group would know about it. This was really him. "So you're Nasedo," he acknowledged grudgingly. "How do I know you're not working with my--with Bob?" he accused. 

"Because everything I've done has been to keep Max safe, not exterminate him. We're on the same side." 

"We're on the same side? _Now_ we're on the same side?" Michael burst out. "Then why the hell have you been going around telling everyone I'm the enemy?" 

"You aren't, as it turns out. But you had the very strong potential to be," the shapeshifter said coolly. "I couldn't take the chance." 

"Great. Just great," Michael muttered. "You couldn't take the chance. So you thought 'Go ahead and give Michael the shaft, it's not like he isn't used to it.' Great." 

"Your anger isn't going to get you anywhere." 

Michael turned on him. "You think this is anger? You have no idea what's going on inside me right now. You're lucky I've been able to keep from ripping your freaking face off!" he hissed. 

"And that's why I know you're not the enemy." 

Crossing to the bed, Michael sank down on it. His mind was reeling, the hope of any logical thought far from his grasp. "What?" he said, hating how defeated he sounded. 

"I know what he did to you. What he awakened in you. But you haven't given in to it." 

"Okay. I'm confused." 

"History lesson. Four beings, the leaders of an entire planet, are killed in an intergalactic takeover attempt. They die, and their essences are mixed with human DNA--" 

"Yeah, I already heard the lecture. Get to the point." 

"Fine. I'll simplify. Your essence was...shall we say...tinkered with. By the creature that calls himself your father." 

"Tinkered with," Michael repeated. 

"The part of your personality that embraces violence, mayhem, the kill--that was...enhanced. And then it was hidden behind a mental wall of sorts, to be awakened at the appropriate time." 

"So basically, you're saying that all my life I've been a time bomb waiting to go off?" Michael demanded. 

Nasedo nodded. 

"Then why the hell didn't somebody do something about it? Not that I'm big on dying, no matter how much my life sucks, but why didn't somebody pull the plug before the spaceship left for Earth?" 

Nasedo looked rather embarrassed. "It wasn't discovered until we were already en route. And then it was too late." 

Staring down at his hands, Michael mulled this over. The story Nasedo was telling seemed real. Possible. It certainly explained what had happened to Michael the day before. Bob had reached into his brain and changed everything. It wasn't a mindwarp, and he hadn't added or replaced any memories. Instead, he'd ripped away barriers Michael hadn't even known he had. Stone walls he hadn't put there. They'd been in place--part of him--before he'd ever come out of the pod. 

And now he knew what was hidden behind them. He knew exactly what he was capable of. He knew that Bob had told the truth: he had one purpose. To destroy Max. He'd seen it. 

He still didn't remember his past life, but now he knew that his past hadn't been this way, hadn't centered on this purpose. He'd always felt like there was something wrong with him, that he was damaged. It was actually almost a relief to find out he'd been right all along. For once, it wasn't his mind playing sadistic tricks on him. That had been done by someone else. 

"We were supposed to be the same as we were before. But since somebody screwed with me, I'm not even that," he said, half to himself. He raised his head and looked at the shapeshifter. "So now that this violent side has been awakened or whatever, how come you're not acting like my enemy? What if I go postal on Max the next time I see him?" 

"That's not very likely, actually. If you were going to break, it would already have happened." 

Michael's tone was deliberately sarcastic. "So what, you're saying that whoever screwed with my essence did a crappy job? Or am I supposed to believe that I'm so strong and noble I can hold my own against the evil mind-reprogramming aliens?" he scoffed. 

"Neither, actually," Nasedo said, his composure unruffled. "When what had been done to you was discovered, steps were taken to try and counteract it. Unfortunately, it couldn't be undone. We could only try and mask that side of you. Block it off, as it were, so it would be inaccessible. I hoped it would never awaken." 

Michael stared at him. "So one person mucking around in my mind wasn't enough, and you thought you'd add to the confusion? Am I supposed to thank you? 'Cause I don't feel real grateful right now." 

Nasedo began to sound a little defensive. "We did our best. The side effects are not our fault." 

Michael sprang to his feet. "_Side effects?_" he shouted. "What the hell does that mean?" 

Nasedo looked at him in surprise. "You've already experienced them. How else did you think you were able to divide yourself in two, if your unconscious mind hadn't already held the pattern for it?" 

"How the hell should I know how it happened?" Michael thundered. "I don't know anything!" Hearing his own agitation, he turned away and forcibly tried to gain control of his emotions. "Look," he said finally, "you've got a hell of a lot to answer for. You owe me some explanations, more than I've gotten so far. But I think I've got enough to deal with right now, if I don't want my head to explode." He ran a shaky hand through his hair and changed the subject to something he thought he could handle without said head explosion. "So how did you know that Bob had awakened my violent side, anyway? And how'd you wind up here, looking like Isabel?" 

"I was following you," Nasedo said, not sounding the least bit regretful. "I saw you go to the human girl's house--" 

"Maria. Her name is Maria," Michael interjected. 

The shapeshifter continued on, as if Michael hadn't spoken. "--and I saw him break down the barrier in your mind. I wasn't sure who he was at first--we don't have built-in shapeshifter identification abilities--but when he marked you I knew him for who he was." Michael's hand flew instinctively to his cheek. He'd almost forgotten he'd been branded. Nasedo continued, "That sigil--it's peculiarly his own. He uses it as a focusing point to connect with his victims." 

Victims? Michael really, _really_ disliked that word. On a number of levels. He pushed down his distaste. "It burned a little, whenever he tried to read me. But I thought he could do that because we were related." 

"No. It's his gift, reading others of our kind. One that he has truly misused." 

Huh. Got that right. "So you saw the mark and knew it was him," said Michael. "Why make a guest appearance as Isabel?" 

"She was approaching the house, she and the skinny human boy." Michael mentally supplied Alex's name to the picture. Nasedo continued, "I took the opportunity to get nearer." 

Michael's eyes narrowed. "You took the opportunity? What did you do to her?" 

"She's fine. Or she should be. She should have had no problem getting out once she regained consciousness." 

A flash of temper rose in Michael, and this time he didn't try to bash it back down. "Get out of where?" he demanded through gritted teeth. "What did you do to her?" 

"I couldn't have her getting close to Bob," Nasedo said reasonably. "So I took her out of the equation." Michael glared at him until he explained, "I knocked her out and put her in a car trunk." 

Michael just looked at him, his expression hard. "You're gonna regret that." 

"I hardly think you're in a position to--" 

"Not me. Isabel." 

There was a moment of silence. 

"My job is to protect the Royal Four," Nasedo began, not stopping as Michael let out a sarcastic grunt when he heard they were back to the Four, not the Three. "I wasn't about to let her go into that house, not with Bob there." 

"So you took her place," Michael said slowly, "and got knocked over the head for it. That's what I call poetic justice." He pursed his lips in sour amusement. "Still not gonna get you off Isabel's shit list, though. She's family and all, but man, can she be vicious." He took a moment to think over everything Nasedo had told him. "I don't like you, and I don't like the way you do things. So tell me why I should believe any of this," he said finally. 

"That's up to you to decide," the shapeshifter responded, his voice even. 

For him to decide. He wasn't sure he could make a rational, logical decision. Not that he was really known for that anyway, but with everything that had happened in the last week, he wasn't in any shape to know what to do. Things were spinning further and further out of his control with each passing moment. Face it, he wasn't even _supposed_ to be making any decisions. He was supposed to be Bob's tool. 

But Bob was shit out of luck, even if he didn't know it. Because someone--Michael wasn't sure if it was Nasedo himself or another alien--had come along and fixed it. Well, not fixed it. It was kinda like the good fairy in that 'Sleeping Beauty' video Isabel had made him watch when they were kids. The other aliens couldn't undo what had been done to him. 

So instead they forced their way into his scrambled-egg brain and played around with the DNA or gene mix or whatever a little more. So that even though Michael knew what he was supposed to do--could feel it waiting ravenously in his very bones--he could control it. 

He--who'd never felt in control over anything in his sorry little life, not his home life, not his powers, nothing--he could control this one thing. He could step away from it, distance himself. Look semi-objectively at it, and make his own choice. 

And what he chose was not to betray his best friend. Not to let the people he cared about--because he did care about them, even Mrs. DeLuca, kind of--get hurt. Not even the people he didn't care about, the people he couldn't remember from a home he'd lost over fifty years ago. 

Because in the rush of images that flocked to his mind as Bob tore away the barriers were other images. Flashes that could only have come from the other alien. Michael had seen what he intended, far beyond the disposal of the king. And he wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even the people he hated most. Not even Hank. 

And if that meant working with the shapeshifter, so be it. He spoke. "So if he's not my father, then who is he?" 

For a moment, Nasedo didn't answer. In fact, if he hadn't looked so affable, Michael might have thought the shapeshifter was a little uncomfortable with the question. On second thought, Michael was sure of it. Nasedo had caused him a good deal of pain and trouble; Michael didn't have any hesitation in pressing him further. "Who?" he demanded again, pulling himself up to his full height. 

"A very dangerous creature," Nasedo said solemnly. 

"Thanks for pointing that out. I hadn't noticed," Michael snarked. He shook his head impatiently. "Well, I'm gonna stop him. You in?" 

Nasedo raised one eyebrow. "What happened to doing it by yourself?" he asked. 

The smile that crossed Michael's face was not one of joy. "I wasn't willing to risk Isabel, but I'm damn well willing to risk you."  
  
  



	28. Chapter 28

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 28**_

Almost before the restaurant even opened, seven teenagers had gathered at the Crashdown for a joint breakfast and strategy session. Their efforts the previous day had garnered them absolutely nothing other than a headache or two and a general sense of frustration. 

As a plate-laden Jeff Parker headed over towards the group, Kyle branched seamlessly into a discussion of the previous night's practice game and the chances of the West Roswell High Varsity basketball team going to the state finals that season. 

"It's not looking too good," he told a surprisingly interested Tess. 

"I thought the basketball team was supposed to be wonderful," she replied. "You won the regionals last year, didn't you?" At his look of surprise, she added offhandedly, "I heard about it, that's all." 

"Last year our three best players graduated. We just haven't found our rhythm so far this season. That, or we just suck." 

"Maybe you need some new players," Tess observed. 

"We tried that, but the turnout was pathetic," Kyle answered with a shake of his head. "Heck, even Maria would have been a better choice than some of the rejects we ended up with." Maria shot him an annoyed look, but didn't comment. 

Behind them, Mr. Parker spoke up. "Why not do some recruiting, then? West Roswell's a big school. There are probably plenty of good players out there." He set down an order of pancakes. "Your usual, Alex." Liz and Maria both burst into chuckles, and Maria mouthed the words 'Mr. Predictable.' 

As Mr. Parker continued to serve breakfast, Kyle moved along the train of thought the restaurateur had started. "I don't know if recruiting would do us any good. There really _aren't_ many good players out there." 

"Alex could play. If it was dodgeball," Maria put in with a smile at her tall friend. "Undisputed champion." 

"Yeah, I remember," Kyle said. "No offense, though, Whitman, but I don't think you've got quite the set of skills I'm looking for here." 

"No offense taken," Alex assured him after swallowing his mouthful of syrupy pancake. "I'm happy to stay in the bleachers." 

A thoughtful look crossed the athlete's face. "You know who I'd like to see in action? Guerin." 

Maria sputtered on the sip of orange juice she was taking. "Guerin? As in my...as in Michael? _Michael_ Guerin?" 

"D'you know any other Guerins?" was Kyle's slightly sarcastic response. 

"Has he ever even shown up for PE?" Alex asked. 

"He's tall, and he moves pretty damn fast," Kyle pointed out. "It'd be interesting to see what he could do." 

Isabel spoke up, amusement in her voice. "I wouldn't get your hopes up, Kyle. Michael's not exactly the joining-in type." 

"Not to mention that he's not really into organized sports," added her brother. "Other than sprawling on the couch and watching them on TV." 

Kyle smiled then, a rather devilish smile. "I don't know. I figure, we go out and rescue him and he owes us. For my share, I think one tiny little basketball tryout isn't out of line." 

Maria shook the unexpected but rather intriguing image of Michael in a basketball uniform out of her head. It would never happen. "Good luck with that, Kyle. Besides, we have to _find_ him first," she felt free to add since Mr. Parker had gone back behind the counter. 

"Any ideas on how to do that?" Isabel demanded just a trifle sourly. "Because I couldn't get through to his dreams again last night." 

"Me neither," Maria admitted with a sigh. "We drove all over Roswell yesterday, and not a sign of him." 

"How sure are you that you would have felt him?" Liz asked, a thoughtful expression on her face. 

"Pretty sure," Maria said with confidence. "I mean, I have to be fairly close, but we drove down practically every road in Chaves County. I think I would have found him if he'd been there to be found." 

Tess shook her head gloomily. "It's been thirty-six hours. He could be anywhere by now." 

"It's too bad he's not wearing a homing beacon," Alex commented, only half-kidding. "We could steal some more FBI equipment and track him." 

"He doesn't need a beacon; he _is_ one. But if he's too far, I can't feel him," sulked Maria. 

Alex studied her. "So what you need is a signal amplifier of sorts, so you can feel him from further off." 

She gave a weak laugh. "Yeah. You think they sell them at Radio Shack?" 

No one had anything particularly encouraging to say, and they busied themselves with their breakfasts. All except Liz, who was toying with her fork, a look of absorption on her face. 

"Liz, what is it?" Maria asked with curiosity. 

Her friend continued to turn her fork between her fingers. "Tell me again what Bob said about the crystal Michael gave you." 

"He said it was like a big battery," Maria said obligingly. Liz nodded, her thoughts clearly busy. 

"You've been doing some...unusual things lately. At least in human terms," she clarified. "Dreamwalking Michael and healing Isabel." 

"Yeah, so?" Maria said. 

Max was evidently able to grasp the direction of Liz's thoughts. "Did it start happening before or after Michael gave you the crystal?" he asked. 

Maria frowned. "He gave it to me before the healing. But the dreamwalking.... No, we shared the first dream weeks ago. I got grounded for staying at his apartment that night, remember?" 

On hearing this tidbit of news, Kyle grinned and opened his mouth to speak. But before he could get a word out, a small hand thwapped his arm. "Shut up, Kyle," said Tess with a pointed look. 

"I was only--" 

"I know what you were only. Cut it out," she warned and then turned to the others. "I heard you'd dreamwalked Michael. But now you're saying you two _shared_ a dream? Which is it?" she asked. 

"Why? Does it make a difference?" Maria countered. 

Tess met her eyes. "I'm not sure. It's just--I never heard of a human being able to do either one. Before you." 

Maria bristled. "What, so humans can't have gifts? Do you think you're so much better than us just because you're a big scary Czechoslovakian?" 

"A what?" 

"You know, not of this earth? Extra-terrestrial? A little green around the gills?" Maria heard her own voice rise in pitch and took a deep breath. 

"That's not what she meant," Kyle burst out. He turned to Tess. "It isn't, is it?" 

"No. It's just...." She hesitated, then forged on, "Isabel can heal, right? Maybe she healed herself." 

"And Michael pulled me into his dream, is that what you're saying? I didn't dreamwalk him, he did it?" Maria asked, a little more calmly now. 

"It's a possibility." 

"You weren't there," Alex protested. "Isabel was unconscious. Maria was the--" 

"It's okay, Alex." He turned towards her, and Maria continued, "Tess has a point. Just because I want to believe there's something about me that's special--" She put a hand up to silence the incipient protests. "No. Just because I want to believe it, it doesn't make it true." Shooting a wry glance at Liz, she added, "It's much more logical that Michael and Isabel did it all. They're the ones with the established powers." 

Tess studied her for a moment. "Even if it wasn't you, it doesn't mean you're not special." The normally self-possessed alien actually flushed a bit. "I mean, Michael seems to think so." 

Maria looked at her in surprise. "Thanks." 

"So do we have a truce here?" Kyle asked, and let out a sigh of relief when both girls nodded. "Good. Because all this tension isn't good for my digestion." 

Tess spoke up again. "I'd still like to understand about the dreamwalk. If you don't mind?" She slanted an inquiring glance over toward Maria. 

"It's okay." 

"So this dreamwalk, or shared dream, it's happened more than once?" 

"A bunch of times. If we're both asleep, we meet in this room. It's kind of boring, really. I mean the room is," Maria hastened to explain. "Cream colored walls and no doors. And one little couch that Michael...But you really don't want to hear about that." 

"And you've never dreamwalked anyone else?" Tess asked. 

"Nope, just him. Oh, except when Isabel had to take me in with her...but that was Michael, too. And Isabel's the only other person who ever dreamwalked me, as far as I know," Maria added, shooting a glance at the statuesque alien. 

"I remember. You dreamt about Michael in a tux," Isabel replied loftily. 

Maria colored a little, before donning a cloak of bravado. "Yeah, well if you recall, I also dreamt you and Max were slimy, tentacled monsters, and that didn't happen either," she shot back. 

Sitting next to Maria, Liz was still worrying at the problem like a terrier with a fresh bone. "The first time you shared a dream with him, you were together, right?" 

At the twin looks of surprise from Kyle and Tess, Maria could feel her face redden even more. "Not _together_ together. I mean, we slept together, but--No, I don't mean that either. We slept, as in sleeping, not--He slept on the floor," she finished in a rush. 

"And the other times, you were apart? He didn't climb through your window in the middle of the night or something?" 

"He saves that for Max's window," said Isabel irrepressibly. 

Maria ignored her, answering her friend with a slightly regretful, "No." 

"Other than the first time, were the dreams before or after you had the crystal?" Liz pressed. 

"After...but why?" Maria asked, not quite sure where this was going. 

"Whether it's you or Michael doing it, you were near each other the first time it happened. Then after you had the crystal, it kept happening even when you weren't near each other. That might not be coincidence." 

Alex's eyes danced. "I think Liz just found your amplifier, 'Ria."  
  
  
*****  


The click of the lock came all too soon for Michael. As anxious as he was to get this over with, he couldn't fool himself. He really wasn't looking forward to it, to put it mildly. After hours of bitter dispute, several losses of temper on his part, and an incredibly annoying tendency for the shapeshifter to dismiss anything Michael suggested, they'd finally settled on the current plan. Which he was not all that happy with. Because basically, it sucked. 

He'd gotten what he supposed was a few hours of sleep, again using his jacket as a makeshift pillow. His dreams were uneasy, washing over him in a half-remembered melange of pleasure and violence. No doubt of their origin--another pleasant little byproduct of his so-called father's mind games. He'd almost thought he'd heard Maria's voice at one point, calling his name in a lovingly exasperated tone that was all her own. But even in his dreams he shook it off. He couldn't afford to be distracted. 

And then he'd heard another voice, for sure this time. The same sweet voice that had taunted and then warned him in his dreams. The one that sounded like Agent Topolsky. He could still hear the echo of it even upon waking. _Killer._ He grimaced. Like he didn't already know. 

And now he was awake again, forced to face another morning. At least, he guessed it was morning. For the first time, he kind of wished he wore--or even owned--a watch. 

He sat up, his stiff muscles protesting, as the door swung open and Bob slid through. Like the previous day, the other alien held a brown paper sack; this time when he tossed it, Michael fielded it neatly and dug inside. If he was only going to have one opportunity to eat again today, he sure as hell was taking it. He unwrapped a rather dry-looking sandwich, took out half, and passed the other half to Nasedo, who had long since re-donned Isabel's form and was sitting on the bed. 

Michael took a bite. Some sort of lunchmeat on dry bread. Bland, but edible. What it needed now was a good shot of Tabasco, and maybe something sweet, like strawberry jam. And a pizza or two and half a dozen chocolate-covered doughnuts...but the starkly plain half sandwich was all he got. He briefly considered the fact that it might be drugged with more of the power-inhibiting serum, but given the state of his powers, he didn't think it mattered anyway. Wolfing down the rest of the sandwich, he wiped his fingers on his jeans and stood. 

Bob was watching him, a look of satisfaction on his face. Looked like his suspicions about the sandwich were right on target. Michael hoped the serum was only geared towards alien-human hybrids, though, because they couldn't be without Nasedo's powers. Glancing at the shapeshifter, he was relieved to find 'Isabel'--no, make that 'Kyla' although they'd never mentioned the name to Bob--peering with disgust at the less-than satisfying meal. 

"You expect me to eat this?" he--no, 'she' demanded. 

"Do I look like I'm carrying a sushi bar around with me?" Michael shot back. "Eat or don't eat. I don't care," he added for Bob's benefit. 

Bob took a step nearer. "Still in a bad mood, is she?" he asked with a malicious grin. Michael just rolled his eyes, an expression he'd picked up from the real Isabel, as the fake one went on a diatribe. 

"Bad mood? Of course I'm in a bad mood," she sputtered. "Wouldn't you be, if your boyfriend's weirdo father kidnapped you and held you in some dismal little room with no proper amenities whatsoever? I mean, how could I possibly be expected to function without my cosmetics and hot rollers?" 

Michael snorted inwardly. This was a little over the top, even for an imitation Isabel. She wasn't _that_ vain. And she probably didn't even need all that girly shit, anyway; she could just wave her hand and look perfect. 

Still ranting away, Nasedo was sticking to the background identity they'd created before Michael had realized his companion in captivity wasn't Isabel. "Are you waiting for a ransom, or what?" the shapeshifter demanded petulantly. "Because my father's a Sheriff, not a millionaire. Although if _this_ place is the best you can do, any amount of money would be an improvement. Honestly, Michael, I should have known your family would turn out to be absolutely pathetic." 

With a snarl, Michael turned to Bob. "Are we getting out of here today or what? Because if I have to spend any more time with her, one of us is going to wind up dead." 

Bob raised his eyebrows. "Dead? But I though you were against killing people." 

Deliberately shooting 'Isabel' a nasty look, Michael growled, "In her case, I might make an exception." 

The other alien chuckled and held up the pair of handcuffs he'd used on Michael the day before. "You know the routine." Michael silently submitted to being restrained and hooded, and with mixed dread and anticipation allowed himself to be propelled out of the room and towards the training room. 

His plan would've been better. He'd wanted to jump the other alien as Bob entered the room. Two against one might've worked, even if the one did have that electroshock device. Because Bob would have no way of anticipating that the supposedly human prisoner actually had fully functional powers. Combine that with a surprise attack, and they might've been able to take Bob out of action. 

Not that he really wanted to kill again. The idea sickened him. It was bad enough with Pierce, and the threat there had been imminent. Was it still self-defense when your victim wasn't actually pointing a gun at somebody? Would it hurt any less? 

It didn't really matter, because Nasedo had insisted on waiting until they could get more information from the other alien. Which meant more time for the shapeshifter to search the premises, which in turn meant another day of Bob-induced visions of violence for Michael. And the alien's not-so-tender ministrations already had Michael itching to act out, to plant his fist in someone's face, to batter them down into an unidentifiable mass of blood and bone and-- 

No. He pulled the reins on his bloodthirsty need for violent action, sending it to hunker down restlessly inside him. He wouldn't let that part of him, that dangerous, horrific part, take over. He could control it. Nasedo had said so, and he couldn't bring himself to believe otherwise. He _would_ control it. 

Swallowing, he trudged along where Bob led, glad for the few moments he still had before the training would recommence. The thud of his worn boots on concrete seemed to repeat, 'DON'T. DON'T.' 

By the time Bob had shoved him against a wall and uncuffed his left wrist, Michael was uncomfortably near to panic. He had to pull this off. He'd keep the alien busy--why did it seem like that's all he ever did anymore, first with Tess, now with Bob--and if possible he'd get some more information from him. But he couldn't seem to give in too soon. 

And so, when Bob pointed him to the metal folding chair. Michael sat. And when Bob asked point blank if he was ready to cooperate, Michael steeled his jaw and grunted, "No." 

The scenes that flowed through his mind weren't any less terrible than the previous ones, but somehow they didn't seem quite as unbearable. And that terrified Michael even more. He couldn't actually be getting _used_ to this, could he? He didn't want to get all cozy and comfortable, like these images of Max's bloody corpse didn't affect him. Didn't sicken him to the core of his being. Didn't make him want to fall to his knees and vomit out the detritus of betrayal and fear and nausea that filled him. 

But he held on, as long as he could. Hours? Minutes? He didn't know. With a forceful shove, he summoned up what tattered remnants of will he still clung to and broke the connection. 

The disengagement actually rocked him back in the chair, and he flailed around for a moment before recovering his balance. At least he hadn't landed on his ass, there in front of his oppressor. 

He looked wildly around for a moment, then blustered, "What the _fuck_ was that?" 

The other alien looked a little shaken himself, but drew himself up and clamped his hand back on Michael's face. 

Oh, god. No more.... 

But Bob wasn't forcing his battered mind to create any more images. Instead, the brand on Michael's cheek began to twitch, ever so slightly. Bob was trying to read him. 

Time to convince. 

Carefully Michael loosened the mental wall he'd built two days earlier. Like he'd done then with the memories of the Isabel dreams, he allowed some of the images Bob had bequeathed on him to filter back to the other alien. Just the images, not his feelings about them. 

This was the dangerous part. The part he'd argued with Nasedo over. He was fairly sure that Bob hadn't actually been giving him images, just opening up his mind to the hate and violence that had been engineered inside him. His own brain created the actual pictures; that's why Bob didn't know who Max was. He'd never seen him. But after this moment, Bob would have an image to go with the idea of 'King.' Michael took one particularly vile picture, of Max lying eviscerated at his own hands, and let the image slip through to the other alien. Joylessly he heard Bob's quiet gasp at its reception. 

And Michael deliberately forced a wide, humorless, entirely chilling smile onto his face.  
  
  
*****  


Maria fidgeted impatiently as Max passed a hand over the lock on Michael's apartment door. "Hurry up," she entreated. The very second the lock clicked open, she pushed her way past him into the apartment. The room itself stopped her before she got more than a few steps in, however. It didn't look visibly different. It was quiet, though that wasn't unexpected. But the sense of emptiness that pervaded the room made her skin twitch. The lonely room could have belonged to anyone. Somehow she'd never noticed it before. It seemed that when he was there, Michael resonated with such vibrancy that his sparse possessions picked up and were magnified by it, a certain spark. It wasn't his hybrid status, or the other three would give off the same indefinable electricity. It was just Michael. 

Maria thought back to the years when Michael had been only a fuzzy figure in the scope of her world, a wrong-side-of-the-tracks sort of guy whose name she had barely known. He had hardly even been a blip on her radar, not like Isabel who'd always been popular in spite of her hauteur, or Max who'd watched her best friend from afar for years. Michael hadn't given off this spark then. It was only after she'd really met him that she'd grown to notice it. It had developed over the course of a number of weeks the previous fall; ever since then she'd felt a preternatural sense of life whenever he was nearby. 

The same awareness that was, come Hell, high water, or alien attack, going to help her find him now. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she looked around the room to find the others had entered and moved past her. 

"Okay," she said, holding up her crystal. "When Michael gave this to me, he said he had others. Find them." 

"Can't you just sense them?" asked Kyle. 

"Uh uh, only Michael. This one gives off a vibe--Bob said it was attuned to Michael--but I can't feel it unless I'm touching it." She noted with approval Isabel's systematic search of the kitchen and Max heading to Michael's chest of drawers, then turned to the others. "Why are you standing there? Get searching!" 

Alex gave her an apologetic look as he admitted, "I'm a little worried about just how pissed off Michael will be when he finds out we went through his stuff, Maria." 

"Yeah, well, I'm just hoping we can find him while he's still around _to_ get pissed off!" Maria shot back. "We don't know what that monster is doing to him. If there's a way to help me find him, I'm taking it." She began to cross the room, then stopped and smiled at her still hesitating friends. "I promise I will take full responsibility for this. Michael can be pissed off at me all he wants as long as we get him back, okay?" 

Without waiting for them to answer, she knelt on the floor and turned her attention to the plastic crate Michael had stuck in the corner. She began pulling out its contents, piling them haphazardly on the floor beside her. A few pencils. A paperback copy of _Bleak House_ surprised her before she remembered. Michael had told her he was working his way through Dickens' novels. Maria hadn't read it, but the title seemed depressingly appropriate for the shabby apartment. Honestly, she needed to get Michael some books with better titles. Had anyone ever written one called _Michael's Fabulously Happy Life_? She wondered if the others knew how much he read; she somehow doubted it. Checking the due date on the book, she noted he still had a few days to turn it in. Surely he'd be back by then, wouldn't he? 

A sketchbook tempted her, but she resolutely put it down on the pile without opening its cover. Her hand hovered over it for a few moments. It wouldn't really hurt to take a peek, would it? The picture he'd drawn of her was beautiful, and she was more than curious to see what else his clever hands had wrought. Time for that later, though. She'd ask him to show her, and wheedle her way---okay, she admitted it. She'd whine until he gave in and showed her. 

With a smile, she continued to pull things from the crate in a search for Michael's stash of crystals. She only hoped he kept them here, not stowed away in the pod cave or something. Her hands working busily, she almost didn't realize what she held when she pulled a folded paper from the crate; then she smiled mistily. It was a program from West Roswell's production of _Little Shop of Horrors_, in which she'd had the lead role. He'd kept it. They hadn't even been speaking then--or rather, he'd been avoiding her--but he'd come to see the show on opening night. Of course, his name was in the program, too, for making the plant puppets. Or maybe he'd just forgotten he had it. Because he really wasn't the sentimental type. 

A cry of triumph drew Maria's attention away from the program she was clutching. Isabel was smiling widely and holding up a small bluish crystal. In her other hand was a cereal box. 

"I found the toy surprise," Isabel caroled, and the others gathered around her. She poured the contents of the cereal box gently onto the counter. No cereal, just round crystalline spheres in varying shades of blue. "I wondered why Michael had three boxes of cornflakes," she commented. "Even for someone who's willing to eat cereal for every meal, that seemed a bit much." 

Max reached out and picked one up. "Do you feel Michael when you hold it?" he asked his sister. 

"Not exactly," she answered. "But they seem familiar, somehow. They did when Michael first showed them to us, remember?" 

"Bob said the one I had was attuned to Michael," Maria said. "So maybe that's what you're feeling." 

"Or maybe we recognize them from our life before," breathed a fascinated Tess as she reached out to gingerly touch a crystal with one finger. 

"So this is what all the fuss is about, huh?" Kyle said, looking over Tess's shoulder at the sparkling pile of blue. 

Isabel reached over to hand one of the crystals to him. "It is." He rolled it in his hand, then handed it back. 

"Just looks like a big blue marble to me," he said. 

Isabel smiled proudly. "Until Michael picks them all up. Then they glow." 

"They glow," Alex echoed. "What is he, a giant alien lightning bug?" 

Liz was studying the crystal she'd picked up. "Does anyone feel anything from them?" she asked with curiosity. "Other than Maria, I mean." 

She got a few headshakes and several 'No's, and continued thoughtfully, "If Bob is right and they're attuned to Michael because he created them, then how is Maria able to use them?" 

"We don't know that she is," Max pointed out. He nodded at Maria, who hadn't as yet made a move to touch the crystals, and said her name. "Maria?" 

Maria felt suddenly nervous, but put her hands out and let the others pile the spheres in her palms. There were about a dozen of them, and she could barely manage to hold them all in her cupped hands. She closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to sense a stubborn, spiky-haired Spaceboy. As one, the group held its breath. 

Finally, Alex broke the silence. "So does it work, or do we need to hit Radio Shack after all?" 

She didn't open her eyes, but a warm grin blossomed on her face. "Does it work?" she repeated. "Oh, yeah."  
  
  



	29. Chapter 29

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 29**_

Alex let out a cheer and Liz wrapped her arms around Maria in a congratulatory hug. Maria opened her eyes and, holding the crystals clutched to her chest, freed one arm to point. "He's in that direction," she reported. 

"How far?" asked Tess, clearly anxious. 

"I can't tell that. These things don't have a range finder on them," Maria said wryly. She turned to Max. "Okay, troop leader, what's the plan?" 

"We head out and see where he is. Scout around, and come back to get the Sheriff if it looks like we need backup," the alien king said decisively. He looked around the group. "This might be dangerous. If anyone doesn't feel comfortable going, speak up now. No one will hold it against you." 

"It would be safer if the humans didn't go," Tess piped up. "The rest of us have our powers to protect us." 

Maria shook her head. "This human, for one, _has_ to go. Bloodhound, remember? But I'd go anyway." 

"You've got that right," Alex added. "We're all in this." 

"And I didn't get us the day off work for nothing," said Liz, smiling. 

Maria glanced at her best friend. "Ah, the benefits of being related to the owner," she teased, then turned to Tess, more serious now. "We're not going to be left behind again, not like when you got Max out of Eagle Ridge." 

A bleak look shadowed Liz's eyes. "Max," she said hesitantly. "Maybe you're the one who shouldn't go. If Bob's goal is really to kill you, or have Michael kill you, maybe you shouldn't be anywhere near there. Even if you don't want to admit it, your people need you." 

The others were silent. Max frowned, and Maria followed suit. Was his duty to his home planet always going to be a sticking point between Max and Liz? And, more urgently, would it keep him from helping Michael? She didn't have to wait long to find out. 

"Michael is one of my people, and my second-in-command. But most importantly, he's my best friend. I'm going." 

Alex began to applaud, and Maria shot the alien king a blinding smile. For her part, Liz nodded. "I'm not surprised," she admitted. "But I had to ask." 

They quickly decided to take the only two available vehicles, since Maria's mother had the DeLuca Jetta. Isabel, Maria and Alex would lead the way in the Jeep with the others following in Kyle's convertible. Maria privately wondered how the ride would go with Kyle and Max, Liz and Tess all in the same car. Well, they'd just have to be mature about it, because more pressing things hung over them. 

Although she was itching to get underway, Maria reluctantly set her double handful of crystal spheres on the counter and crossed to Michael's phone to dial a very familiar phone number. The other end was picked up almost immediately, and, though she turned her back, she was aware of the others listening in to her side of the conversation. 

"Hey, Mom.... No, we're at Michael's.... I _know_ his apartment is still off limits, but I figured since he's not here it would be okay. Listen, Mom, we have a lead on him. We're heading out now to find him." She bit her lip, then continued, "It's a long story, which I'll explain later. If I have to," she added under her breath. Someone stifled a snicker; she thought she recognized it as Alex's. "But we think we can find him," Maria went on. She listened for a moment. "Yeah, we were already planning to call Sheriff Valenti if we found anything. No, I'll call you, too. Just...I'm going to turn my cell phone off between calls. I wanted you to know, so you wouldn't worry if you couldn't get through." She listened for a moment; then, giving a sigh, she answered, "Yes, all of us. We'll be fine, I promise.... Come on, Mom. You--you trust Max, don't you? Well, Max is not going to let anything happen to me, okay? I have to go, Mom. I just wanted to let you know what was going on.... What? Yeah, Mom, I love you too.... I'll tell them. Bye." 

Hanging up the phone, she turned a long-suffering glance towards her companions. "My mother says to be careful," she reported. "She's not going to be happy if anything happens to any of us." 

"It won't," Isabel assured her, handing her a cloth-wrapped bundle. "The crystals," she explained. "Michael doesn't have a bag of any sort, and I thought this would be better than the cereal box." 

Maria clutched the bundle to her chest. While she'd been on the phone, Isabel had taken one of Michael's shirts from a drawer and wrapped his crystal collection in it. Maria's eyes met Isabel's in a glance of understanding and determination; then together the two girls led the way out of Michael's apartment.  
  
  
*****  


Wonder of wonders, Bob bought it. He gave a satisfied laugh and stepped back to study his creation. Michael met his eyes, allowing just a hint of his thirst for violence to shine through. "So," he said avidly, "how are we gonna do this?" 

Rather than answering, Bob dug into a pocket. Michael managed to control his flinch at the thought of the electroshock device Bob had used on him the day before, and was rather relieved to see that wasn't what the alien was reaching for. 

Of course, when Bob reached out and stabbed the hypodermic into Michael's arm--again right through his jacket--the teenager didn't feel quite the same sense of relief. "Goddammit!" he yelped. "What the hell is it with you and needles?" 

"It's an antidote to the serum I gave you", Bob said, seemingly unperturbed by Michael's vehement objection. 

"Well, you could have warned me first," Michael grunted, stung. 

Bob ignored him. "Just sit there and wait for it to activate," he ordered. 

Michael managed to do as the other alien asked for a short while. Then he started to wonder just why the other alien was so willing to accept that he had been subverted. Michael himself wouldn't be; he was more inclined to be suspicious by nature, he guessed. He should just be grateful that it had worked and stop letting it unnerve him. But the thought was making him antsy. Fidgeting with his rings, he spoke up again. "So how's this gonna work?" 

"How do you think?" Bob countered. 

Michael shrugged. "How the hell should I know? You're the one with the master plan. You tell me." 

Bob's eyes were not particularly friendly as he stood and watched the boy. "I'll tell you what you need to know when you need to know it," he said in unmistakable warning. 

"Don't blow a gasket," Michael muttered. "I'm just asking." 

"Well, don't," Bob snapped. "Concentrate on what you're told to do." 

"Whatever." Irritated, Michael waited a minute, then pointed out, "But you haven't told me to do anything, Dad." He noticed with some satisfaction the other alien's slight grimace at the use of that name, and set himself to needle him a little more. "So, Dad, what do you want me to do?" 

"Just sit there and be silent!" Bob snapped. "We can't do anything until the serum wears off. At that point, we'll continue our work." 

"Great." Michael shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying not to think too much about what that work might consist of. Dropping his hands down, he began to tap his fingers against the metal seat, beating a ragged rhythm with his rings. The swinging handcuff which dangled from his right wrist added an emphatic bass drum beat. 

"Exactly how long is it gonna take?" he asked. "I got things to do, you know." 

"Let's start with this," the other alien responded, paying no heed to Michael's impatience. "Where is the king?" 

"You really think I'm gonna tell you? You might get the jump on me, and I wanna take him on myself." Michael laughed gruffly. "He won't know what hit him." 

A smile crossed Bob's face. "You really want to hurt him, don't you?" 

"Oh yeah," Michael answered. He pulled out his memories of growing up and allowed his unleashed hatred and violence to color them. "Do you have any idea what it's like, growing up trailer trash while your fearless leader gets the good house, the nice parents, the regular meals? I think it's time the king gets a taste of what it's like to be one of the less fortunate. First him, and then I'll take out his wimpy little bride." He rose from the chair and crossed towards the wall. "And then we'll see about my former girlfriend. You know, if you weren't so damn slow to get the job done, we could've already started by now." 

Ignoring his complaints, Bob asked, "How adept are you at using your gifts?" 

"Gifts? I get presents?" Michael cut in, just to annoy him. 

"Your gifts. Your powers," Bob explained. "Surely you've noticed you're not quite like the others." 

The others? Did he mean the other members of the Royal Four, or humans? Might be best to play dumb. "Uh, different how, exactly?" 

Bob let out a sigh that was a little more dramatic than necessary, in Michael's opinion. "You really aren't too bright, are you, boy?" he asked without seeming to expect an answer. "All of our kind have certain...abilities. They vary from person to person, but everyone has one gift that is stronger than their others." 

"Oh yeah? What's yours?" Michael wanted to see what the alien would say. Nasedo had already told him of Bob's ability to connect and read others of their species. "You a shapeshifter or something?" 

Bob's eyes narrowed. "What do you know of shapeshifters?" he asked suspiciously. 

Oops. Not too smart there, Guerin. Carefully he gave Bob his best innocent look. It was successful enough to fool the other alien; Michael was rather surprised. "I read, you know," he said dryly, trying to cover his gaffe. "You think I wouldn't find out everything I could about alien phenomena? I live in _Roswell_, man." 

"Have you met one?" The question was abrupt. 

Met one? Met didn't even begin to describe his rather tumultuous acquaintance with the being known as Nasedo. Who was hopefully getting some good dirt on the situation right now. Which Bob certainly didn't need to know. Raising one eyebrow, Michael out-and-out lied, "Not unless you're one." 

Bob seemed to relax. "I am, to some extent. I would have to be, to merely exist on this planet, much less to go unrecognized for what I am." 

"Well, I'm not one, and I do okay," Michael pointed out. 

"You are a rather special case, you and the king and his bride and his sister. You are hybrids, engineered to survive on this planet." 

Michael considered this for a moment. "So anybody else from our planet who's on Earth would have to be a shapeshifter or another hybrid?" 

"They would have to be a shapeshifter. The technology that allowed you to be hybridized is extremely complex, and was destroyed after the four of you were re-created." 

Huh. He hadn't denied the existence of other aliens on Earth. Then again, he hadn't confirmed it, either.... 

"And shapeshifting's your gift?" Michael continued, trying to draw him out. Bob hesitated and then nodded. "Cool!" Michael enthused, inwardly shuddering at the fake excitement he was mustering up. God knows where _that_ came from. "So let me see you do something. Be someone else." 

"It takes a great deal of energy," the other alien said stuffily. "It's not to be used lightly." 

"Come on, Dad," Michael wheedled. Where the hell did that annoying whine come from? 

It evidently annoyed Bob, too. "Stop calling me that," he ordered irritably. 

"Sure, no problem. What d'you prefer? Pop? Father? I can't call you Daddy, that's for little girls and wusses." 

"Father will do, if you must." 

"Okay then, Father," Michael said, ignoring the bitter taste of the word on his tongue. "So if you're a shapeshifter, what am I? Is it genetic, or what?" 

Bob looked at him in shock. "Of course not. You don't need to shapeshift; you're a hybrid." 

"Then what's my gift?" Michael said, genuinely interested. Bob couldn't be referring to the powers that they already knew about. Nasedo had once told him that their abilities came from their human side, albeit from a very advanced human side. These alien gifts must be different. Although it was interesting that Nasedo hadn't mentioned them at the time.... Didn't matter right now. Whatever his so-called gift was, it might be helpful. He wasn't particularly successful in controlling the human powers, but maybe he could handle the alien one. Anything to give him the edge. 

The other alien's tone was matter-of-fact. "You're a generator." 

What the--"I'm a what?" 

"A generator--a power source. How do you think were able to attune the power spheres to you?" Michael hadn't been aware he'd done so. He'd actually created the blue crystals out of rocks, but maybe the other alien didn't know that. 

"And it's because I'm this power source or whatever, that you want me to kill the king?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "Or are you just trying to keep things in the family? The family that slays together stays together?" 

"It's because of your gift," Bob confirmed. 

This didn't make any sense. "But what do you need me for? Why don't you just get a gun and shoot him?" Michael hoped he wasn't giving the other alien any ideas. Probably not, as he'd already gone around threatening people with a gun. It wasn't that long a stretch to actually using it. 

"Killing him isn't enough. He has to be destroyed completely. We'll need proof that it's done." 

"Can I suggest something in a nice video camera?" Michael said. "You push record, do the deed, and it's captured for posterity." 

"That's hardly adequate," Bob chided. "It's foreign technology, not to mention the difficulty of transporting it across galaxies." 

"You can travel through space but you can't work a VCR?" Michael scoffed. "What do you want to send instead, the king's head in a box?" Ouch. Not such a great visual there. But somehow Michael kept his face impassive. 

The other alien seemed more irritated. "We won't need to send them anything. The entire planet will know when the bond is broken." 

Michael just looked at him. Bob looked back, taking in the teen's utter lack of comprehension. "The bond, the bond," he spat. "The one between the king and his subjects. The one that--" Here he paused. "But perhaps you don't... How well do you know the king?" he asked abruptly. 

"Okay, I guess. I know who he is," Michael fudged. 

"Do you feel any sort of connection to him? An awareness of his well-being?" 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Michael said, pushing himself away from the wall. 

Moving away from him, Bob began to mutter to himself. Michael strained to make out what the other alien was saying. 

"...a defect in the hybridization process? It could be the distance, the link would have to travel across space twice, from here to there and back to here...." 

Moving closer, Michael cut in loudly. "You wanna explain what the hell you're talking about?" 

Bob jumped a little, as if he'd almost forgotten the boy was there. Pointing to the chair, he commanded, "Sit," then repeated the order more loudly when Michael didn't immediately obey. Even after Michael plunked himself down on the chair, Bob remained silent for a moment. 

Finally, he spoke. "How much do you remember of your other life?" he asked. 

"Pretty much nothing," Michael admitted. 

"The king is the most powerful figure on the planet," he was told. "Not because he is a political figure, although he is; there are hundreds of people who could rule if that were all it took." 

"Why, then?" 

"The king, like his direct ancestors going back farther than we have record, has a link with his subjects, one that is relayed through the very core of the planet. Through it he can monitor and enable the well-being of the planet and the people, the health of our entire world." 

Michael's forehead wrinkled as he took this in. "And when the king dies--" he began. 

"The link is transferred to his heir. The new king." 

"Uh, I don't think the current king has an heir," Michael pointed out. "Unless he's been holding out on me." 

"He doesn't. He had not secured the succession before his own father died. That's why we tried to kill him on his wedding day, before he could sire one. We succeeded in killing him, but not in destroying him." 

"He was re-created," Michael said quietly. 

"Yes. And I have waited years to finish what was started then." 

"And if he dies, and doesn't have an heir, what happens to the bond with the planet?" Michael asked. 

"We believe it will pass to his closest relative." 

"His sister." Isabel. 

"That would be impossible." 

"Why? Is our planet a patriarchy, or what?" He took in the look of surprise on the other's face. "What? I told you I read. I have a vocabulary, you know," he said crossly. 

Bob shook his head. "The rule passes down to the elder child, regardless of its gender. His sister couldn't take his place because she would be dead." 

"_What?_" Not only was he supposed to kill Max, but now he was supposed to kill Isabel, too? No. He refused to hurt either one. 

"The sib-bond is too strong. She could not survive the death of her pod-sib." 

Okay, what was he talking about? Michael had heard that term before, 'sib-bond', but where? "Sib-bond?" he repeated. "What the hell is that?" 

"The connection between pod-sibs, quite obviously." Michael gave him an irked look and Bob explained further. "The connection between brother and sister is strong, almost as strong as the pair-bond you would call 'marriage' and stronger even than the bond between parent and child. Our people have twinned births, one boy and one girl. No couple has more than the one pair. The podlings are bound to each other; when one dies, the other dies also." 

"When the king is killed, it'll kill his sister too?" Michael said, trying to hide his horror. 

"Why? Is it a problem?" the other alien countered. Michael managed to shake his head. 

"Just means two for the price of one," he forced out. "A real bargain." Swallowing his nausea, he asked, "So when he was killed before, you thought the king's bond, the one with the people, it would pass to someone else?" 

"It should have. It would have, if the king's mother hadn't had you all hybridized." 

"It stayed with him, then." 

"So we think. It's rather hard to tell, what with the distance between the king and the planet and the corruption from his human side. It's possible that the pair-bond between the king and his sister no longer exists," Bob mused. "Killing him in this incarnation may have no effect on her." 

"But it did before," Michael said slowly. "When he was killed, she died." 

"Dropped in her tracks," Bob said in some satisfaction. "In the middle of the king's pair-bonding celebration. You really should remember, boy; you were with her, after all." 

Michael swallowed. "How...how did I die?" 

"You were killed battling the king's assassins. You managed to take several of them out of the equation before you were killed. Most impressive, really, if it hadn't been so pathetic." Bob paused for a moment, then let out a breath. "Well," he said, "the serum surely must have worn off by now. What say we get back to your training?" 

Michael's head was spinning and he barely even heard the other alien. The one thought he could manage to hold on to was that maybe he hadn't done such an evil thing after all. Maybe he hadn't harmed his sister, his own flesh and blood. If they even had blood in that form. Maybe he'd killed her, simply by dying.  
  
  
  



	30. Chapter 30

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 30**_

Shivering in the back seat of the Jeep, Alex pulled his jacket more tightly around his neck in a vain attempt to keep warm. They were insane, all of them. Seven teenagers driving on a desperate chase with an unknown destination and a pressing sense of urgency. At least the other four were warm, because Kyle had the sense to have the top up on the convertible. The Jeep was another matter. Maria hadn't wanted anything to block her from sensing Michael, so they'd left the top off. Even though Isabel had fixed the Jeep's heating system so it was steadily belching out a toasty stream of hot air, it didn't really counter the chilly effects of riding in an open vehicle in the mountains in December. Alex tried to pull his hands inside the cuffs of his jacket. Man, it was cold. 

The two girls in the front of the vehicle didn't look any warmer than Alex himself felt. Isabel's nose and cheeks had turned rosy from the cold and Maria let out an occasional sniff, though Alex suspected that had as much to do with overwrought feelings as it did the temperature. 

They'd stopped for a late lunch at a roadside diner once it became clear that finding Michael wasn't going to be as easy as it had seemed. Refusing to be parted from the blue crystals, Maria had sat with the shirt-wrapped bundle on her lap as she picked at her food. Only Kyle had been able to summon up a reasonably hearty appetite. 

After lunch, Max had offered to drive the Jeep to give his sister a break, but she had refused, preferring to deal with the cold that came along with driving the Jeep rather than sitting warmer but inactive in the convertible. With determination, she took her place behind the wheel, an impatient Maria beside her; Max moved back to the convertible and the two vehicles headed off. 

Idly Alex sat and stared at the back of Maria's head. The noise of the road prohibited any attempt at normal conversation; instead he held an imaginary conversation with her. It didn't make him any warmer, but at least it gave him something to think about other than their current situation. 

They'd started off with high hopes as they'd pulled away from Michael's apartment building that morning. It had still been early--not even eight o'clock--and Maria had been positive that they'd find Michael and be back by lunchtime. Unfortunately, things hadn't proven quite so simple. Michael was vaguely north-northwest of his apartment, but they had no idea how far. Plus the roads didn't run in that exact direction. Isabel was afraid of driving too far out of the way and ending up passing him and Maria was too focused on Michael's direction to care about a lack of drivable pavement. Alex suspected that, if things hadn't been quite so tense, the two girls would have ended up squabbling. 

After a few hours of driving back and forth, it became apparent that Michael wasn't to be so easily found, and Isabel pulled off the road so the seven of them could reassess their plans. They finally decided to hop onto the highway and drive north. Eventually, Maria should feel a major shift in Michael's direction, which would enable them to narrow down their search area. Liz had tried to suggest stopping to get some maps, but Isabel and Maria shot the idea down, refusing to make any 'unnecessary' stops. 

And that was how they came to be driving through the mountains in what Alex supposed was Colorado. He leaned over to peer at Maria. She was clutching the crystals in her cupped hands, which looked white and frozen stiff. Her eyes were intent on the road in front of them. He'd very rarely seen his friend focus with such concentration. 

It was only because he was watching her so intently that he saw her stiffen slightly. "Maria?" he called over the road noise, leaning forward as far as his seatbelt would allow. 

"What is it?" Isabel said sharply, tearing her eyes from the road long enough to glance at the girl beside her. 

Maria was silent for a moment, considering something intently. "Alex?" she said finally, lifting her crystal-filled palms. "Take one of the crystals," she instructed. He did so, surprised at the feel of it. For one moment, it felt--not warm, exactly, but almost as if it had held substantial warmth one minute earlier; then the feeling melted away, and all he held was a big blue marble. But Maria was speaking again. 

"Take another," she said, and after he did so, "Another." She sat for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "Put that one back." Leaning forward again, he dropped it to join its mates in her waiting hands. He couldn't help but notice the suppressed excitement in her voice. 

"What's that all about?" he asked, his spirits lifting. 

"It's getting stronger," Maria replied none too calmly. "I can feel him without those two stones just as strongly as I could earlier, with all of them." She smiled. "We're getting closer."  
  
  
*****  


"Focus!" Bob's voice was sharp, and the sound of it rang unpleasantly in Michael's ears. Did the other alien think he wasn't focusing? Wasn't trying? Because he was, perhaps harder than he'd ever tried anything before. He wanted to be able to control this power. Needed to do it. And all he could manage was to watch himself fail again and again, just like he'd always failed at everything.... 

"Goddammit!" he shouted, rising so suddenly that the metal chair crashed backwards onto the concrete with a deafening clatter. "I can't do this!" he spat, beginning to pace across the room. 

"Of course you can," Bob responded, not sounding nearly as supportive as the words made him out to be. "You just need to focus and let it happen." 

"What the hell do you think I've been _trying_ to do?" Michael raged as he stalked back and forth. He could feel the other alien's eyes following him as Bob stood, leaning casually against the wall. 

"I think you're wasting my time," Bob said, not seeming to care that Michael was on the brink of exploding. "You didn't have this much trouble grasping this the first time, and I doubt your genetic changes have altered your ability to learn. So why the problem?" 

"If I knew, don't you think I would have done something about it?" In frustration, Michael slammed one boot-clad foot into the metal chair. It felt good enough that he kicked it again, harder this time, enjoying the satisfying sound it made as it crashed against the wall. He continued pummeling the hapless piece of metal, a kick punctuating each word. "I. Just. Can't. Do. This!" 

Sharply, the other alien warned, "If you cannot focus your powers, you're of no use to me. And I strongly suggest you hope that is not the case."  
  
  
*****  


When the phone rang, Amy DeLuca jumped for it. The day had stretched out endlessly as she sat and worried about Maria. But she couldn't afford to close the shop on a potentially lucrative Saturday; finances were tight enough as it was. She and her daughter had enough problems without all this alien nonsense on top.... 

But it wasn't nonsense. Her only daughter was involved in something very dangerous, potentially deadly, and there wasn't a whole lot Amy could do about it. And on top of that, her little girl--her baby--was in love with an alien. An extra-terrestrial. A non-human. 

Or maybe that should be a part-human; Amy wasn't sure she really understood it all. She just got the basic gist of things, that Michael Guerin and her daughter were radically different from each other. Not the same. And that bothered her more than she'd like to admit. Certainly more than finding out about Max, Isabel and Tess. And she wasn't sure why. 

Maybe because there were times when she'd actually started to like him. Not all the time, mind you; Michael had a shady enough reputation to worry any mother. And the outward persona he showed the world didn't give much reassurance. 

And yet there were times when he astonished Amy. The portrait he'd drawn of Maria, for example: it showed not only talent and artistic sensitivity astonishing in someone of his age and unnourished background, but also the feeling behind the gift. Feelings he did his best to hide. Amy knew there were things he didn't like to show, but she suspected they went even deeper than most people realized. And she wasn't sure if that was because of or in spite of his alien nature. 

But none of these feelings could alter the fact that her daughter was out there somewhere, putting herself into a potentially dangerous situation, all for the sake of this young man. Only the fact that Maria had agreed not to take any action without first notifying Amy or the Sheriff had enabled Amy to get through the day. She had spent every moment expecting the shop phone to ring; it was no wonder that she pounced on the telephone the minute it did. 

"Maria?" 

A startled pause, then a man's voice came across the wire. "No, sorry. It's Richard Delgado calling for Mrs. DeLuca." 

Slightly flustered and not a little worried, Amy stammered, "Oh. Sorry, Mr. Delgado. I was expecting another call. This is Amy DeLuca." She had almost forgotten the detective she'd hired. Of course, she couldn't really be blamed for that, with everything that had happened in the past two days. 

"I have some news to report," the man told her. 

"Yes?" she asked, not even attempting to hide the trepidation in her voice. 

The detective chuckled. "Don't worry. It's good news, or at least I believe you'll think so, Mrs. DeLuca. I've located your brother."  
  
  
*****  


Some time--perhaps several hours--later, the two-vehicle caravan found itself off the highway and on a deserted two-lane road in the middle of nowhere. They'd left the mountain range, although Alex could still see it to the west. 

Maria was down to three crystals now, the others wrapped securely in Michael's shirt and guarded by Alex. "We need to turn left," she called suddenly. "I think we're passing him." 

"There's no road," Isabel said automatically, her eyes scanning the horizon. "We can keep going and look for a turn-off, or go back and look for one we might have missed." 

"I don't care what we do, we just need to turn!" Maria snapped. 

"Maria," Alex said, leaning forward to put a hand on her shoulder. "It's going to start getting dark soon, and we can't drive across open country with no light. Maybe we should find a place to hole up for the night, so we can get a fresh start tomorrow." 

But Maria wasn't really listening to him. "Stop the car," she said suddenly, her eyes focused on something somewhere in the distance. 

"Maria," Isabel began. 

"_Stop the car!_" 

Putting on the turn signal, Isabel pulled smoothly over to the side of the road. In a trice Maria was out of the Jeep and reaching into the back to take the bundle of crystals from a concerned Alex. Then she crossed the road and started across the deserted terrain. 

Isabel and Alex gave each other a look, then started after her. 

"Izzy! Alex!" Max called from behind them. "Where are you going?" 

Isabel turned and shrugged, but kept walking. The others scrambled out of the convertible and followed. 

It didn't take long for Alex and Isabel to catch up with Maria; she'd halted long enough to fumble with the bundle and add one more crystal to it, leaving her with two. "We're getting close," she said almost unnecessarily. 

Alex looked ahead, but saw nothing. Sure, the mountains were there in the distance, but nothing in the near vicinity. Only gently rolling swells of ground, with patches of old snow covering the sparse dried grass, and the occasional bare-looking tree. Unless Michael had suddenly developed the power of invisibility, Alex didn't see how he could be anywhere near. 

"If he's very far, we'll need the cars," he pointed out logically. "We can't spend the night out here. It's too cold." 

Liz's voice came from behind them as the other four teens caught up. "And you hate camping, remember? I had to pay you to come on the camping trip last year," she reminded Maria. 

"He's not that far," Maria insisted as she made her way forward. "I wouldn't be able to feel him this strongly." 

"So where is he then?" Kyle asked, looking around and not seeing anyone else. "Hovering overhead in a spaceship?" Seven pairs of eyes looked up reflexively, but all they saw was the vermilion and gold of the setting sun. 

"He's close," Maria said stubbornly. She didn't stop moving forward, but fumbled a corner of the shirt-bundle open so she could deposit one more crystal inside. She clutched the remaining crystal firmly, wrapping her chilled fingers tightly around it. 

When she finally halted in her tracks, it was abrupt enough that it caused a Three Stooges-like chain reaction as the others stumbled, trying not to knock into each other. Paying them no heed, Maria took a few steps in several directions, always returning to the spot where she'd stopped. 

"That's it," she finally announced. "We're here." 

"Here? Where exactly is here?" Kyle demanded, looking at the empty expanse surrounding them. 

"Here is where Michael is," the girl explained patiently. 

Liz crossed to her. "Are you sure?" 

Maria nodded and spoke, her tone decisive. "He must be underground," she said. 

"Anybody got a shovel on them?" Alex asked wryly. 

"The sledgehammer's still in my trunk, but no shovel," Kyle responded. 

"We don't need shovels," Isabel put in rather abruptly. "There has to be an opening somewhere." 

Tess was looking at Maria in horror. "If he's underground.... Maria, is he...is he _buried?_" she managed to get out. 

Maria hastened to reassure her. "No, no. Of course not. He's not dead, Tess. I don't think I'd be able to feel him if he were dead." A horrible thought struck her. "Unless you guys turn into ghosts or something when you die. Maybe I could still feel that.... Oh, that's just wonderful. I'm gonna get stuck with the ghost of Michael Guerin, aren't I? He'll be popping out of the ceiling and rattling chains and--" 

Liz cut her off, knowing that the stress Maria was under wasn't exactly helping her think straight. "Maria, you don't even believe in ghosts." 

"Well, I didn't believe in aliens either, and look where that got me!" she burst out as she gestured wildly around her. As if suddenly hearing herself, she broke into nervous laughter. "No, it's okay, Liz. I'm not going hysterical or anything, I promise." She took a deep breath and turned to Tess. "Michael's not dead, Tess. I'm sure of that. But Isabel had a good point. If Michael's underground, there has to be an entrance nearby. We just need to find it." 

Max, who'd been silently surveying the site, finally spoke up. "We need to take some precautions first." 

"Like what?" Isabel challenged, swinging around. 

"Like calling Sheriff Valenti. Like coming up with a weapon or two before we go barreling into a situation we know nothing about and can't control. We want to help Michael, not get any of us hurt or worse." 

With a grin, Alex saluted smartly. "Sir! Yes, sir!" he barked. 

Max sighed. "I'm not trying to give orders here--" He ignored his sister's muffled snort. "Let's just be careful about this." 

"You be careful. The rest of us are going to get in there and find Guerin," Kyle blurted. "If you're too afraid..." he trailed off leadingly. 

Max looked him squarely in the eye. "Michael knows I'd do anything to help him. But I also know him, and I am _not_ going to let him blame himself for getting one of you killed, just because you were too impatient to take a few sensible precautions!" 

"Stop it!" shouted Isabel. "You two work through your issues later. Max, take my cell phone. Use it to call Valenti and tell him where we are. Or at least," she added, "as close to where we are as you can, considering we don't exactly know. Maria, shouldn't you call your mother and report in?" 

Maria shook her head. "The call to Valenti's good enough. Too much to explain, and she can't do anything to help anyway." 

"Okay. Kyle, go back to your car and bring the sledgehammer. If that's the only weapon we've got, we'll take it. The rest of us will start looking for an entrance. A door, an opening of some sort, anything unusual. We'll split up the powers among the search groups: Max with Alex, Tess with Liz, and Kyle with me. Maria, stay where you are and let us know if Michael moves. Everyone set?" 

Max looked fondly at his sister. "You know, Iz, maybe you're the one who should be king," he commented. 

She grinned and handed over the cell phone. "Get cracking."  
  
  
*****  


Michael reached up to run an unsteady hand through his hair, only stopping when the dangling handcuff conked him on the ear. He had to get a grip on himself; the tumultuous rise and fall of his temper wasn't helping him. Taking a deep breath, he held it and then expelled it slowly. 

He wasn't sure it actually calmed him down any, but at least it gave Bob the impression that he was able to control himself. "Feel better now?" Bob asked, obviously not caring about the answer except as it related to his own goals. 

"Yeah," Michael lied gruffly. 

The other alien nodded. "Good. Then try it again. Focus on the wall in front of you. It's not your body that controls it, it's your mind." 

Michael let out a snort. If that was really the case, they were screwed. His body was strong and reasonably healthy; he wasn't at all as certain of his brain. 

"It's no different than manipulating matter to reshape an object or change its color," Bob lectured. "You simply need to focus your energy in the correct manner, just as you do when you use your other powers." 

Michael couldn't help himself; he burst into bitter laughter. "Hate to break it to you, but my powers? They pretty much suck. So if you want me to take on the king, I'm probably gonna have to do it the old-fashioned way." Bob looked at him rather blankly, and Michael plastered a tight-lipped smile on his face. "It'll be more fun that way, anyway," he offered recklessly. "Tear him apart with my bare hands." 

"I've already explained why that won't do," Bob said testily. "We're not killing a random teenager here; we're affecting the future of an entire planet. And I can't go back unless the task is completed." He pointed at the floor. "Sit." 

Feeling rather like an overgrown puppy, Michael complied, leaning back against the wall and stretching out his legs. 

"Now pick a point on the far wall and focus on it. And relax." 

"Easy for you to say," Michael muttered, but did his best to follow instructions. 

It wasn't good enough. "No, no, no!" snapped Bob. "You're thinking too hard. Don't think about it, just do it. Don't let your mind get in the way." 

Like that was gonna happen. 

"Think about something else," Bob ordered. "Think about...think about your girlfriend." 

Michael knew he was supposed to be thinking about the so-called 'girl' Nasedo was impersonating, but he didn't. He didn't even think about the real Isabel. Instead, his mind flew immediately to Maria-land. To his real girlfriend, if she still was that. She had been, for a few short days, until he'd made the stupid deal with Nasedo, and had broken up with her just like he'd done with everyone else. Michael wasn't sure what she was now. 

And even if she still was his girlfriend, wanted to be, he wasn't certain her mother was gonna let it happen. It was bad enough when he'd just been a juvenile delinquent in Mrs. DeLuca's eyes; with her knowing who--no, make that _what_ he really was, it would just be that much worse. 

He almost wished he'd never gotten involved with Maria in the first place, because he wasn't sure he was going to be able to handle it all, not without shutting himself off more completely than ever. He wasn't strong, not like he should be. He was barely holding it together as it was; one more blow might very well cripple him for good. 

The cuff to his head was unexpected enough to knock him over even though there hadn't been much force behind it. Bob was just trying to get his attention. "Focus!" the alien cried in exasperation. 

Michael's voice came crossly as he picked himself up. "D'you want me to focus or think about something else? Make up your mind." 

"Do both." 

What? "And just how do you expect--" His voice cut off abruptly as something in his brain twitched. For a moment, his mind seemed to juggle with the two concepts, and then for one tiny instant, it seemed to shift itself into two, running somehow parallel. In front of him a tiny pinpoint of blue-tinged light appeared on the concrete wall; almost as soon as he saw it, it winked out of existence and his mind snapped back together with an almost audible click. 

"What the--" The words were pulled almost automatically from him. He stared at the wall, trying to process what had just happened. It was just ordinary-looking concrete, no different than the floor or the other three walls. 

"_That's_ the idea!" Bob said, managing to sound both pleased and impatient. "Do it again."  
  
  
*****  


It was Alex who finally stumbled over the entrance, quite literally. His foot caught on an uneven bit of ground and he staggered forward. He wasn't able to catch himself, and sprawled awkwardly on the ground, but it had the fortuitous effect of putting him nose to nose with something that didn't look quite right. 

"You all right?" asked Max, leaning to offer Alex a hand up. He didn't move to take it, instead scrabbling at the dirt in front of him. 

Yep, there it was, a ridge in the soil, too perfectly straight not to be man-made. It was a door, laid flat into the ground. "Got it!" he said triumphantly. Kneeling by it, he began to push at the edge. With Max's help, the door slid back, revealing a ramp that descended into darkness. 

"Get Liz and Tess," Max said. "I'll get the others." 

In a few short moments, the seven teenagers had gathered around the opening. "Looks awfully dark," Alex commented. "Any of you Czechs have super-enhanced night vision?" 

"No," Isabel responded, "but I think there's a flashlight in the Jeep." She darted off after it. 

Meanwhile, Kyle pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket. 

"Kyle! Since when did you smoke?" Liz asked, taken aback. 

"I don't. I just picked it up because it reminded me of someone," the jock said, turning it around to show the bug-eyed alien on the front. "Can't think who, though," he added with a grin as Tess gave him a cross look. 

Max raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on it. "This is how it'll go," he instructed. "Maria will lead the way to Michael. Tess, Isabel and I will go with her." He turned to the others. "Two of you should stay with the cars, in case we need to make a quick getaway. Liz, you can get the keys to the Jeep from Isabel when she gets back. That leaves Alex, unless Kyle wants to let someone else drive his car?" He looked inquiringly at Kyle who hesitated, then shook his head. 

"I'll put the top down, though, so you can get in fast if you need to," Kyle said, planning ahead. 

Max nodded. "Good. Alex, you can stay with the cars, or you can come with us. Your choice." 

Isabel, overhearing as she returned with the flashlight, added, "You don't need to go in, Alex. We could use a look-out at the entrance." 

He smiled. "I'm not trying to prove anything here, but I'm going in. An extra person can't hurt if we have to split up to look. I will borrow your sledgehammer though, if you don't mind, Kyle. Seeing as I don't have any alien superpowers." 

Kyle grinned and handed over the heavy implement. "Good luck, Alex." 

"You might not even need it, if you're lucky," Liz pointed out. 

Max turned to her. "If we're not back in an hour, call Sheriff Valenti again. He said he'd do his best to find us out here if we needed him, even though it's not his jurisdiction." Liz nodded and Max's face grew grave. "And at the first sign of trouble, I want the two of you out of here." 

"That's a little high-handed, don't you think, Evans?" Kyle asked. Alex groaned inwardly. So they were back to 'Evans' again, were they? "You're not my boss," Kyle continued. 

"Michael is one of my people. My responsibility," the alien king responded calmly. "That makes finding him my responsibility. Bad enough to risk Maria and Alex; I don't need any other potential casualties." 

"Nice to see you don't mind risking Tess or me," Isabel said dryly. 

Her brother didn't blink an eye. "You wouldn't let me keep you from going, even if I tried," he pointed out. "Neither you or Michael has ever been very good at doing what you're told." 

"Too true," she said with a smile. "So let's get started, shall we?" 

Kyle handed Tess his lighter. "Good luck," he said quietly, then moved back from the entrance. Liz hugged the Evans siblings and her two best friends in turn and then followed suit. 

"I've got the flashlight, so Maria and I will go first," Isabel said decisively. "That is, if it's okay with you, Your Majesty?" she teased. 

Max shrugged. "After you." 

Alex followed the rest of them down the ramp and into the dark, gripping the handle of the sledgehammer tightly and fervently hoping he wouldn't have to use it. After descending for what must have been at least forty feet, the ramp plateaued out into a barren corridor of concrete walls and floors. Isabel shone the light about, illuminating a series of fluorescent lights recessed into the concrete ceiling, but there was no switch, nor would they have wanted to use it if there had been one. 

"What is this place?" Tess whispered, shivering. No one answered. 

After a short walk ahead, the group came to a break in the walls on both sides. Silently Maria took a few steps in each direction, testing them, before nodding towards the right. They moved on in that direction. 

Alex took time to note and be glad that they were all wearing rubber-soled shoes, allowing them to move fairly quietly over the hard floors. He shifted the sledgehammer to his left hand and unzipped his jacket. It was much warmer down here than up above. 

He had taken off his knit cap and was about to stuff it into his pocket when it happened. He let out a startled cry as, from behind, a firm hand gripped his shoulder.  
  
  



	31. Chapter 31

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 31**_

Spinning around, Alex thrust his fist--still holding his knit cap--into a straight-arm jab that only managed to miss its target thanks to some quick movement on the part of his opponent. 

"Gaah!" came a startled shout. Behind Alex a flame shot up from the lighter Tess held, and Isabel shone the flashlight in their direction. 

"Geez, Whitman, you don't have to take my head off," a raspy voice complained. "I'm unarmed." 

"Jesus Christ, Kyle," Alex shot back, his heart thudding. "You didn't have to _do_ that." 

The jock smiled cockily. "Could've been worse, I guess. You could have used the sledgehammer." 

Alex's eyes dropped to the implement. He'd forgotten he had it, to be honest. Not an easy feat considering its heft, but he'd been so startled.... Great. Some help he was going to be. 

"What are you doing here, Kyle?" Tess hissed, taking a step forward. Alex was glad she'd asked the question. 

Kyle put out an apologetic hand. "Look, I'll be out of here in a minute, and go play guard-dog by the cars. But Liz and I had an idea, and one of us needed to come tell you about it. I figured better me than her." 

Max nodded, seemingly accepting this, but Alex noticed a flicker of something--anger? disappointment?--go across Tess's face. Or maybe it was just the movement of the flame from the lighter, casting shadows. 

"What idea?" Isabel prompted. 

"If this Bob guy is really another alien, maybe the other one, Nasedo, would know him. Know what he might be capable of. So we thought--well, okay, Liz thought--maybe you should call him first. See what he can tell you." 

"I'm not sure he'd tell us anything," Max said. "Not if he knew we were helping Michael." 

"So we don't tell him that part," Tess said recklessly. "He doesn't have to know." 

"I'm afraid it's a little bit late for that," Isabel commented. The light from the flashlight swung across the group to focus on her face. 

Wait a minute. Isabel was _holding_ the flashlight.... 

"Shapeshifter!" Alex blurted. 

From behind the light she held, Isabel said dryly, "I for one had already figured that out." 

Alex watched in mixed fear and fascination as the other Isabel put out a hand, palm out, and began to shift, features melting away from the familiar Isabel to the less familiar but very recognizable Ed Harding. Oh. Nasedo. 

"How did you get here?" Tess gasped. 

Stepping through the group, Max placed himself firmly between the shapeshifter and his friends. "That's a very good question," he said. He didn't take his eyes from Nasedo, but spoke to Kyle. "Kyle, why don't you go back to the cars? Keep an eye out for Liz." 

"Sure," said the jock, eyeing the shapeshifter warily. 

"You can see to find your way out?" 

"Yeah. I found some flares in my trunk." He hesitated, then said, "Be careful, Max." Then he turned, and a light flickered in front of him as he lit a flare and headed back down the corridor. 

Alex turned back to the group. He tried to sneak the sledgehammer surreptitiously back into his right hand, then realized he could have juggled with it for all the attention anyone was paying. The three hybrids were facing off with Nasedo; Maria was clutching the shirt-wrapped bundle tightly to her, a determined look on her face. 

"I for one would like an answer to Tess's question," Max said coolly. "Did you follow us here?" 

"Hardly. I've been here for some time." 

"Have you seen Michael? Is he all right?" Isabel burst out, her voice shaking with the effort to suppress her excitement. The shapeshifter ignored her questions. 

"You two of all people shouldn't be here," he snapped at the Evans siblings. "Are you trying to get yourselves killed?" 

Max didn't back down. "Michael's here, and we're not leaving without him." 

"Do you have any idea who he's with? What _he_ intends to do to you? An entire planet is at stake here, Max. Not just one person. Get out of here, all of you. Let Michael deal with it." 

"Let _Michael_ deal with it?" Isabel snapped incredulously. "Since when did you decide he was on our side?" 

"He and I have reached an...understanding," Nasedo answered, his manner calm. "This is his fight; you must leave it to him." 

When Maria spoke, it startled Alex to realize how quiet she'd been, ever since they'd gotten out of the Jeep. Her answer rang out, practically bouncing off the walls. "No." 

Nasedo seemed taken aback, as if he'd forgotten there were humans present. He peered closely at her. "You're the one, aren't you? The one who freed him from his own mind?" 

Caught under the shapeshifter's scrutiny, Maria probably felt like a rather unpleasant specimen in the hands of a bug collector. but if it bothered her, she didn't let it show. Alex was proud. "It was a joint effort," she said, staunchly jutting her chin out. 

"And it was at your house Michael was taken," Nasedo stated. 

Maria flushed, "Yeah, but--" 

"How did you know that?" Max questioned sharply. 

The shapeshifter shrugged. "I was there." 

"And you didn't bother to help us?" Maria demanded. 

"My priority was to protect the others." 

Isabel's eyes narrowed. "And would that priority have anything to do with the reason I ended up unconscious in a car trunk?" she said icily. 

"It kept you alive and out of his hands." 

Breaking into the conversation to keep Isabel from losing her poise altogether, Alex spoke quietly to the shapeshifter, as calmly as if he were one of his band buddies rather than a dangerous alien. "You're not going to change their minds about rescuing Michael, you know. So you might want to give some thought to how you can help instead." 

It was a very long moment; then Nasedo turned to Max. "As far as I can tell, there are no guards, but the being you choose to disregard-- 

"Bob," interrupted Isabel with a nod, putting aside her anger for the time being. 

"He is ruthless, and won't stop at anything to kill you, Max. With Isabel here, he has two shots to accomplish it." 

It was Tess's turn to interrupt. "So it's true? What I remember about twins?" 

Eyeing her with doubt, Nasedo cautioned, "That depends on what you remember. In your previous lives, it was true--kill one and the pod-sib also perishes. There's a possibility that it would still work that way, even in your current hybrid state. We don't know. But that makes Isabel just as vulnerable as Max. Neither of you can go on with this." 

The alien king bristled. "I already told you, we--" 

"Hey!" shouted Maria, fed up with the delay. "Enough chitchat. Michael's this way; I'm going. Anyone coming along?" 

Startled, Nasedo addressed her again. "How do you know where he is?" 

"I just do," she said rather belligerently, then started down the dark corridor. Isabel took a few steps to catch up and then walked with her, the flashlight illuminating the way.  
  
  
*****  


It was with some astonishment that Michael watched the light show playing in front of him. Tiny specks of bluish light chased each other through the air, tumbling over each other in an ecstatic dance. He felt unaccustomed laughter well up inside him. He'd never felt this exuberant, this...this _free_. 

He decided that a stream of light should sweep off to the left, and it did. Another thought, and the light arced towards the ceiling in a miniature fireworks display. He was doing it. He was controlling his power. And it was easy. 

A pair of antennae made completely of blue light burst into existence over Bob's head, and the alien swatted at it, quite unamused. 

"If you're finished playing games, perhaps we could get back to matters of more importance," he said dryly. 

"What? Yeah," said Michael, and the blue light dissipated. The room, bathed only in the fluorescent light from the metal fixtures in the ceiling, looked absurdly dull in his eyes. But he had to get over the insane joy of the last few moments and concentrate on Bob. Pretend to be on his side. "Sorry," he managed to get out. "It's just...." A hint of truth rang through his words. "That was amazing." 

The other alien didn't relent. "Yes. Well. There are other ways to focus your power, ways that you'll need to learn if we are to be successful. I believe we'll try an energy link next." 

"Huh?" Michael asked, still too caught up in the high to care if he sounded like an idiot. 

Bob explained, none too patiently, "I told you that you are an energy source. Did you think all that meant was the ability to put on a light show? You can do other things; one is to pass energy along to another person. That is what we'll work on next." He moved to stand in front of the spiky-headed teen. "I have some ability to shift my shape; however, it takes a great deal of energy. You will provide that energy by linking and feeding it to me." 

"Like a generator, and the link is the extension cord?" Michael offered. 

"A rather inane comparison, but essentially true." 

"So plug on in," the teenager said, ignoring Bob's superior attitude as he stood to face the shapeshifter. He was too busy trying to strengthen the mental wall he'd built. It had kept Bob from reading him earlier; he just hoped it would work on this kind of link, too. 

But Bob was shaking his head. "You must create the link. You control the passage of energy. I can't just take it away from you; if I could, you already would have been disposed of." 

Michael rolled his eyes. The other alien sure wasn't giving him a lot of reasons to stay on his side. Bob really needed to work on his people skills. 

Not that Michael was one to judge. What was that saying about glass houses? But he had the feeling that, in an asshole competition, Bob would win hands down. And there was always the whole planned murder thing to cinch the title.... 

Shaking his head, Michael took a deep breath, then reached out to grab Bob's wrist. He wasn't that good at linking, but he'd managed it before, with Maria. It wasn't totally new. Plus, he didn't really care if something went wrong and he hurt the other alien, so there wasn't much to lose. 

It only took a second for the rough link to be established, and then Michael reached down inside, trying to figure out just how to pass along some of his energy. Well, visualization worked for him before, with the Bob-blocking mental wall; he'd try it again, no matter how lame and New Agey it seemed. Closing his eyes, he envisioned himself scooping up a handful of blue light and handing it to the other alien. 

It seemed to work. _More_, he heard, although it wasn't spoken. The thought came through the link. Obeying, he passed more energy along before opening his eyes. 

He immediately dropped the other alien's wrist in shock. 

Bob looked like him. Spiky brown hair, wrinkled clothing, dangling handcuff, and all. Except not quite. Michael's eyes narrowed. 

"What is it?" Bob asked, adding to Michael's sense of wrongness. He didn't sound right, either. 

Michael's voice was blunt. "You look wrong." 

"I am a perfect copy, I assure you," Bob insisted, sounding rather indignant at the questioning of his skills. "I am quite good at this." 

"Good when somebody else gives you enough energy to do it," Michael muttered under his breath. His eyes studied the other alien. What was off? Even the damned brand was on the other alien's cheek-- 

And it was that which lit the proverbial lightbulb. "Copy," he echoed. "You're a copy. You look wrong because I'm used to a mirror image. You look backwards." Satisfied that he'd solved the question, Michael aborted his 'self'-study. "So do you only copy people, or can you make up your own form?" he asked, interested. 

"I require a model of some sort," Bob lectured. "But it doesn't have to be in front of me. As long as I re-create an image in my mind, I can become that image." 

"Yeah? Then how about doing someone else?" Michael suggested. "'Cause frankly, looking at you looking like me is kinda whacked." 

Bob gave him a supercilious smile. "Fair enough. But you'll need to furnish me more energy." 

"Whatever." But inside, Michael's mind was racing. What would happen if he fed more energy into the other alien, and didn't stop? Could he overload him? Would it knock Bob out, or would he go supernova? Maybe this was his chance to deal with Bob once and for all. But what if it killed him? Sure, he'd told Nasedo he'd do what he had to, but was he really ready to kill again? He'd killed Pierce to save Sheriff Valenti and probably the others, and he'd dealt with it. Barely, but he'd done it. So maybe this time the killing would be easier.... 

He realized Bob was waiting expectantly, and managed to put the decision off for a moment. "How about a break first? This energy thing isn't exactly easy." 

"You're the one who was in a hurry for me to shift," the other alien answered with a shrug. "It doesn't matter to me. Your shape isn't any better than any other shape." 

Maybe it seemed that way to the shapeshifter, but Michael only knew his current shape. And he was more or less content with it as it was. Well, all except for his brand new alien cheek tattoo; he'd get rid of that as soon as he could. He didn't need anything else to make people stare at him; he already felt like a big enough freak. Not that he really cared what anyone else thought. Right? 

Lowering himself to the floor, he leaned back against the wall and let out a deep breath. "So what happens after?" he asked abruptly. 

"After what?" 

"After we kill the king. We pack up and go to Disneyland?" 

Bob gave an arrogant sniff. "Hardly." 

Michael leaned against the wall, looking as confident as he could, considering he was flying by the seat of his spacesuit here. "What, then? What do we do after I take care of your little disposal problem? We gonna fly back home and take over the world, or what?" 

The other alien looked at him appraisingly. "You can't fly back home. You wouldn't be able to survive in our atmosphere. You're too human," he added with disdain. 

This news hit Michael like Hank's fist. He couldn't go back there? The four of them were put in these stupid hybrid bodies so they could save their planet, and they couldn't even go there to do it? They were permanent exiles? He swallowed. Somehow through everything, he'd always believed that one day, he'd go back there, be where he really belonged. His home. 

And now he didn't belong there, either. He didn't belong anywhere. Bile rose up in the back of his throat. "So why the hell am I helping you?" he demanded. "What am I gonna get out of it? A lifetime of paternal gratitude?" he added bitterly. 

"That's unlikely," Bob responded. "Since your father is long since dead." 

Gritting his teeth, Michael tried to keep hold of his downward spiraling emotions. He should have known his father was dead, should have somehow expected it once Nasedo had told him that Bob wasn't his father. Hell, he had no family in this life; why should he expect to still have one somewhere else? He'd already lost his only sister. Why not take his father too? 

At least Bob obviously thought he still held sway over Michael, since he didn't bother to keep up the fatherly pretense any longer. "Yeah?" Michael queried, doing his best to sound unaffected, and only partially succeeding. "So who the hell are you?"  
  
  
*****  


Closing her eyes, Maria breathed in a lungful of dry, warm air. Although it felt good to be out of the cold, she didn't really appreciate the lack of humidity down here. Worse than summer in the desert, really. Someone needed to set up a super-powered humidifier, and fast, because she wasn't eager to find out what the overly-dry heat was doing to her skin. 

They'd moved through a series of corridors, passing an occasional heavy-looking metal door, and they hadn't seen anyone else. Slowing down once they hit a patch where the fluorescent lights were burning, she'd led their small group unerringly through towards Michael. 

And now here they were, outside a door that looked exactly like all the others they'd passed, except for the number stenciled on it in faded black paint: 147. Even though it looked nothing like the intricately carved wooden door in her dreams, she got the oddest feeling of familiarity. She'd stood outside a door looking for Michael before. 

"Here," she whispered, testing it and finding it locked. "He's in here." 

Stepping closer with a nod, Max moved in front of the others and placed his hand over the lock. Nasedo's voice cut clearly through the hush. "You cannot go in there, Max." 

Several glaring faces turned in his direction. "Would you like to make any more noise?" Isabel hissed. "You know, just in case you haven't already alerted them to our presence." 

The censure rolled off the shapeshifter's back. "The door is solid, as are the walls," he said, showing no concern whatsoever. "They can't hear us." 

"Why doesn't that make me feel any better?" Alex whispered to himself. No one answered. 

"What's the plan, Max?" Tess asked quietly. 

Max and Isabel exchanged glances. "We go in fast and hit hard. We overpower Bob and contain him," Max instructed. 

Alex snorted. "Good plan," he said dryly. 

"Do you have a better one?" Isabel shot back. At his shrug, she nodded. "Well, then." 

"Containing him won't be enough, not in the long run. You'll have to kill him," Nasedo cautioned. "He won't stop otherwise." 

Max and the others grew quiet. "Look at it this way," the shapeshifter went on. "He is going to be attempting to kill you, the ruler of our planet. He's committing treason. Think of it as a preemptive strike." 

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better," Max admitted. He squared his jaw. "But I'll do what I have to." 

"No," Isabel insisted. "We'll do what _we_ have to." 

Max nodded, meeting her eyes with a solemn smile. "Isabel and I go in first," he continued, "then Tess. The three of us concentrate on Bob. Maria and Alex, we don't know what kind of shape Michael's in--you get him out. Take him back to the cars." He turned cool eyes towards Nasedo. "Help or not. I don't care what you do--just don't get in our way." 

With that he turned back to the door, unlocked it, and led the way in. 

Anxious to get to Michael, Maria growled in frustration when the doorway was blocked by the people in front of her. Why had they just stopped there? What happened to taking out Alien Bob? Impatiently she pushed past Tess and peered between the siblings. 

Oh. They hadn't dealt with Alien Bob because he wasn't there. Just Michael. 

Wait a minute--make that _two_ Michaels. Who were staring at the intruders, looking just as surprised as everyone else. 

Maria rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Oh, please." Pushing past Isabel and Max, she stalked further into the room, close enough now that the crystalline sphere in her hand wasn't even needed. She gestured towards the Michael who was sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him. 

"That one. That's Michael," she said simply. 

For a fraction of a second, no one moved. 

Then, with speed that surprised her, Max pushed Maria out of the way and charged towards the impostor. Recognition dawned in those oh-so-familiar eyes. 

"You!" Bob spat, sounding eerily like the real Michael. Maria watched in horror as the alien's hand shot out towards the approaching king, whose charge did not falter. 

Nasedo was right behind Max, shoving him aside and out of Bob's reach. His own hand went up, ready to do battle. 

And then a wall of light burst into being, separating the raging aliens. Maria turned her head to see Michael, the real Michael, on his feet, his own hand outstretched. His voice was hoarse, but steady. 

"No," he said.  
  
  



	32. Chapter 32

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 32**_

Michael grimaced as voices rose up on either side of him, insisting. On the left, Bob was excitedly commanding him to kill Max; on the right Nasedo was shouting for Max to get out, Max was vehemently refusing, Tess was calling his name.... 

The voices swelled up until Michael could no longer make out any individual words, just sound and noise and pressure in his ears. Or maybe it was him, his concentration on separating the two groups fuzzing the words into mind-numbing cacophony. Whatever the cause, it pushed him to the breaking point. 

"Shut up!" he roared. "Just shut the hell up!" 

Silence. Wonderful silence. 

He took a deep breath. "Okay." Here he was, caught between the two groups, just him and his wall of energy. Now what? 

A very confident Bob broke the silence. "Good. Now's the time to end this, boy." 

Michael stared blankly at him, then gave a decisive nod and stepped behind the energy wall he was projecting, moving to Bob's side. He heard a gasp from one of the girls--Tess, maybe?--shocked that he would side with the enemy. The smile on Bob's face grew cruel and not a little self-satisfied. 

And it was wiped off his face when Michael dropped the energy field and, putting all his strength into it, swung at him. His fist connected solidly with the alien's chin. He could hear an audible click as Bob's teeth slammed together; then the alien was on the floor, out like a light. For a moment, Michael stared down at him, unnerved by the sight of what seemed to be his own body collapsed on the concrete. Hank had seen the same thing, plenty of times. Had it made him feel more powerful? It didn't make Michael feel anything except sore knuckles. 

He shook his hand out, not that it lessened the sting, then put it up to recreate the energy field and section off his fallen nemesis. Deal with Bob first, then confront the others. One thing at a time. He could handle one thing at a time. 

He used the toe of his boot to nudge the shapeshifter over, then pulled his arms together behind his back. It was awkward since Michael had to work one-handed; the other was busy keeping the barrier up. But he managed to snap the free handcuff over the unconscious alien's left wrist. Then he released a breath he hadn't known he was holding; letting the energy wall drop to free his powers, he unlocked the matching pair of cuffs that dangled from his own wrist. The catch opened with a soft click, and Michael fastened them on Bob for good measure. 

Was that enough? Better to have a weapon of some sort, in case the double handcuffs couldn't hold him. Bob's clothes had shifted to match Michael's--had the contents of his pockets? Michael rolled the flaccid body back over and began to search it. With a sense of relief, he located something small and rectangular in Bob's right-hand jeans pocket and fished it out with a muttered "Yes!" as he recognized it. It was the electroshock device Bob had used on him a day--or was it days?--earlier. Gripping it tightly in his left hand, he rose and slowly turned to face the others. 

He was vaguely aware that most of them were staring at him in shock. He wasn't surprised. He himself was barely used to the idea that he could use his powers without blowing something up. They'd never seen him able to control them. And here he'd unlocked the handcuffs as if it were the simplest thing in the world, not to mention the energy wall he'd thrown up between them. He hadn't even thought about it. He'd just reacted, and it was there. 

But he couldn't let himself focus on that--or them--right now. His attention went to the biggest danger remaining: Nasedo. 

A grim look on his normally mild-mannered Ed Harding face, the shapeshifter took a few sure steps towards him. Or, more likely, towards Bob. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Michael asked, trying to remain calm. 

"I'm going to assure the safety of the Royal Four by disposing of this threat," Nasedo answered. 

So much for their truce. "No," Michael said steadily, "you're not." He moved to block the shapeshifter. 

"I've thrown you across a room twice before," Nasedo pointed out. "Do you really think you can stop me?" 

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw Max take a step forward, probably preparing to step in and clean up another of 'Michael's messes'. But he didn't need to. This was his mess to clean up, not Max's. And he couldn't spare him any attention. He had to respond to Nasedo's challenge. 

He managed an expression that wasn't exactly a smile. "Yeah. As a matter of fact I do. See this?" He held up Bob's shock device. "It knocked the hell outta me. Might be interesting to see what it would do to a full-blood alien. Plus there's the fact that I can probably throw enough energy at you for whatever you have passing for a nervous system to be whacked out for a week." 

"Your powers. You've accessed them," Nasedo said with some concern. 

"Yeah," Michael acknowledged, looking pointedly back at him. "Seems to me you could've told me about that, couldn't you? But maybe you were too busy hiding other things from me, like just who this guy really is," he challenged. 

Nasedo actually looked a little embarrassed, but his voice was steady. "I couldn't take the chance that it would keep you from doing what must be done." 

Michael's eyes burned into the shapeshifter's. "Well too bad, 'cause it has. I am not letting you kill him." The two stared at each other, each refusing to back down. 

"What's going on, Michael?" Not surprisingly, the question came from Max. 

For the first time, Michael tore his glance away from Nasedo. He opened his mouth to answer, but froze, not speaking. He couldn't let himself. He was supposed to stay away from Max, from all of them. Unless.... 

Turning back to Nasedo, he demanded, "What day is it?" 

Nasedo must have been as disoriented by their captivity as Michael, because he didn't answer. "It's Saturday," Isabel chimed in impatiently. Michael didn't acknowledge her--he couldn't, not yet--but raised an eyebrow in Nasedo's direction. The shapeshifter nodded, relaxing his combative posture. 

Michael closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Then the week is over." 

"Week? What week?" Max asked. Again, neither of them answered him. 

Nasedo nodded a second time. "Go ahead," he told Michael. "You've fulfilled your part of the bargain. Was it worth it?" 

Michael honestly didn't know how to answer that. The answer to his question had been vitally important to him, so important he'd ignored everything else...but, even taking his friends' presence into consideration--god, he hoped they were still his friends--he'd done everything he could in his clumsy, damaging way to smash that friendship. Hopefully not beyond repair. Maria hadn't seemed to think so, but.... "Worth it?" he echoed. "I don't know." 

The shapeshifter studied him and then smiled suddenly, a crooked, almost human smile. "You're a very poor negotiator, Michael." 

"You're not that great yourself," Michael pointed out. "You got one week. You wanted six." And during the one week they'd settled on, Nasedo hadn't even turned Max against Michael the way he'd planned to. If anything, Michael had done that himself. 

"Look, will one of you _please_ explain what's going on?" Isabel demanded. 

Michael slowly turned towards his best friend. He owed them all an explanation, but the place he had to start was with Max. Not only his best friend, almost his brother, but also his king and the whole reason Michael was here in the first place. For a moment he wasn't sure how to begin. There was a lot to say, more than he'd thought he'd ever _want_ to say. But that would wait. Best keep things simple. "That's Bob," he said, gesturing to the body on the floor. "He's an alien. He wants me to kill you so somebody else gets control of our planet. And _he_," with a nod at Nasedo, "wants to kill him first, so you don't end up dead." There. That had summed it up rather neatly. 

"And you don't want him to," Max said, his face grave. 

"I can't let him," Michael responded, meeting his eyes for the first time in over a week. "If Bob dies, so does my mother." 

"Your...your mother?" stammered Isabel, loud enough for Michael to hear. 

"Yeah," he answered. "Contrary to popular opinion, I didn't originate in that pod. I have a mother, just like you do." 

"Is she a hostage for Bob's safety?" asked a confused Alex. 

Tess either knew or put the pieces together. "No," she said, her voice shaky, "She's Bob's sister." She turned to Nasedo. "Isn't she." 

It wasn't really a question, but the shapeshifter nodded, a bit reluctantly. 

"It's that twin thing you were talking about earlier?" Alex asked. "If he dies then she does too?" 

Nasedo answered, "Yes." Michael could feel his jaw tighten. He wasn't going to let that happen, no matter what. 

"And you hid it from Michael? What else are you hiding?" Max demanded. 

"Sometimes people die," Nasedo told him, his voice unapologetic. "Sometimes they get killed. Sometimes it's necessary." 

Michael cut through the discussion. "Killing my mother is not necessary!" he bit out. 

"Then ultimately Max will die in her place," the shapeshifter said gravely. "Sometimes sacrifices must--" 

Michael rounded on him. "I don't give a fuck about sacrifices. I've lost enough already. I'm not losing any more." 

"And when Max dies instead, an entire planet will lose. How will you feel then?" Nasedo shot back. 

"And how would I feel if I based my survival on someone else's death?" Max put in, his voice quiet but firm. "I can't. I couldn't live with that." 

"And if it means getting Isabel killed, too?" 

Raising her chin, Isabel stated defiantly, "Max will do what's right." Her tone didn't leave any leeway for discussion. 

Her brother met her eyes. "Isabel, I--" 

Enough. "Oh, cut the martyr crap, Maxwell," Michael said, his voice harsh. "You're not dying either. Nobody is." 

Until Max smiled, Michael hadn't even realized he'd used the familiar nickname. He hoped it was enough to make his friend realize that this was the real him, not the asshole he'd pretended to be in the school parking lot. 

"Isabel," Max suggested quietly, "why don't you and Alex go get Liz and Kyle? Tell them we're okay, so they can let Sheriff Valenti know. And they might want to come down here; I don't think we're going to solve this in a hurry." Well, he was right about that. 

His sister looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Come on, Alex." He leaned a sledgehammer--where did he get a sledgehammer?--against a nearby wall; then, flashlight in hand, Isabel led the way out the door. 

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Michael opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn't want to come. Feeling particularly doltish, he moved to the wall near Bob's limp body and leaned against the concrete, arms folded across his chest. 

Across the room, Max crossed to Maria and began to converse in low tones. Michael couldn't make out what they were saying, and he didn't try. He rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. He was worn out. 

He finally dragged his eyes upwards. Tess was talking to her former mentor, her blue eyes intent. 

"There has to be something else we can do," she insisted. "We have to find a way to incapacitate Bob without killing him. What would they do at home?" 

Nasedo looked at her, a frown on his face. 

She pushed on. "They have to have some sort of prison or judicial system, right? I mean, if life were perfect there, we wouldn't be here now." 

"They would restrain his powers," Nasedo told her. 

"Well, let's do that then." 

Michael summoned up the wherewithal to push himself away from the concrete wall. He didn't want to nudge Nasedo back into the killing mode, but he wasn't optimistic. "Suppose we block his powers. What's to stop him from getting at Max another way?" 

"You mean like shooting him?" asked Tess, looking up at him. 

Michael dismissed this with a shake of his head. "No, that's not gonna get it done. It'd kill Max, yeah, but that's not all he wants. He told me a whole bunch of stuff about some link Max has with the planet, and needing proof and stuff. I suggested Max's head in a box--" 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Max had overheard and was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile. He couldn't be _that_ pissed off, then. Feeling suddenly more lighthearted, Michael went on, "--but nothing conventional is gonna work. Conventional by human standards, that is. I was thinking more along the lines of his getting help. He didn't have any luck with me, but who's to say there aren't plenty of other aliens out there who could do the same thing I can, and are a hell of a lot more willing?" 

"What you do is unique," Nasedo told him. "He won't easily find someone to take your place. You've been groomed for it." The shapeshifter looked away. "It's a long story." 

"Right," Michael said disparagingly. He had a feeling Nasedo had a hell of a lot of long stories that he wasn't sharing. But at this point, it hardly seemed important, not when compared with the situation at hand. "Let's save the stories for later, huh? The only thing to do is watch Bob until we come up with a better solution. So go ahead and head back to Roswell. I'll stay here and play jailer. I figure it's my turn," he added with a bitter laugh. 

"For how long?" Maria's voice was sharp. 

"For however long it takes." 

Maria crossed to stand in front of him. "No," she protested, shaking her head. "No way. We did not come all this way to find you only to go back without you." 

Michael looked down, drinking in the sight of her flushed face. He'd been very careful not to look at her prior to this point; the fact that she hadn't spoken to him had helped immensely. But now here she was in front of him, impossible to avoid any longer. He scowled. 

"I seem to remember leaving a message telling you not to look for me," he said, hearing himself sound almost as angry as he felt. "You saw for yourself how dangerous Bob is. He could've killed you and your mother without blinking an eye. And after everything I went through to make sure that _didn't_ happen, you come strolling in here like you don't have a care in the world--" 

"Michael." Max. Well, the hell with that. Let Max try and warn him. Michael didn't care. 

"And even worse than that, even though you know full well he wants Max dead, you brought him with you. Are you crazy or just stupid?" He stared at her, eyes burning, then deliberately turned away. "Max, go back to Roswell," he began, his anger replaced by weariness. "And take her with you." 

Unfortunately, for once Maria wasn't about to let herself be brushed aside. Her fingers bit into his arm as she swung him back around. 

"No! I'm not leaving you here. None of us are. When you're in trouble, there's no way we're not going to help, no matter how pissy you get about it!" 

"Pissy?" Michael shouted. "You deliberately put yourself and my only friends in danger, when I expressly said not to, and you say I'm being _pissy_ about it? Well, stop helping me, Maria! Stay the hell out of my life!" 

Maria paled, but she didn't back down. "I will not. I don't abandon the people I love!" 

"It's not abandoning if I tell you to go!" Michael shot back, doing his best to ignore her use of the word 'love'. 

Maria's voice shook, and she made a visible effort to control it. "I tell you one thing, Michael. I am sick and tired of letting you shut me out all the time. Well, guess what, it's not an option any more. Run all you want--I'll find you. I did it once and I can do it again! If you--" 

"How did you?" Nasedo asked suddenly, stopping her in mid-diatribe. 

"What?" she snapped. 

"How did you find him?" Nasedo asked. "You led them straight to him." 

"It wasn't quite that easy," Isabel commented as she reentered the room, the three humans behind her. Through his anger, Michael noticed Liz and Kyle start when they saw the unconscious body in the corner. He didn't blame them. He thought it was pretty damn creepy, and he could only see one of him. Then Maria's voice caught their attention. 

"I can tell when he's around, okay?" she said shortly. "When he's nearby, I feel it. So we used a bunch of his power cell crystal thingies--" 

"What?" snarled Michael. For the first time, he noticed she was clutching a bundle to her chest. Was it his crystals? He'd hidden them in his apartment. She'd gone in there, and searched through his things, and _taken_ them? 

Maria ignored the interruption and explained, "--and I tracked him down with my Michael-radar." 

Nasedo was staring at her oddly. "Are you usually..." He searched for a word. "Psychic?" 

With a snort, she answered, "I wish. If I were, Mom would have made it big in the lottery by now." She took in the disconcerted expression on his face. "Why?" 

"I've never heard of such a thing, other than on our planet. You're human. You shouldn't be able to sense him." 

Michael contained his anger enough to question belligerently, "Why not? You told me our powers were human, just advanced." At Nasedo's blank look, Michael blustered on, reminding him, "When we got Max away from Pierce. When you were teaching me to change my fingerprints. Before you killed the FBI agent," he added pointedly. 

"Oh. I did say that," the shapeshifter acknowledged. "I lied." 

Why wasn't he surprised? Michael clenched his fists. He was getting more than a little tired of being lied to. "Wanna explain why?" he growled. 

Nasedo's tone was offhand. "I wanted to mislead you. At that point I judged your powers were grossly underdeveloped, so you didn't pose any sort of threat to Max." Michael's jaw tightened. The shapeshifter continued, "I wanted to keep it that way. I didn't want your obvious consuming interest in all things 'alien' to lead you down the wrong path." He glanced back at Maria. "But that doesn't matter right now. I'm more interested in how she is able to sense you." 

"We always used to say you were off in outer space half the time, Maria," Alex joked. "Maybe we weren't too far off." 

"For the last time, I am not an alien!" Maria shot at him. "I have plenty of problems, but being E.T. isn't one of them." She muttered something under her breath, and Michael frowned. Had he really heard her say, '_Dating_ E.T. definitely is.'? 

Nasedo slowly approached her. Sounding strangely benign, he asked, "May I read you?" Maria looked at him uneasily and he hastened to assure her. "I promise it won't harm you, but I need to find out why you are able to sense the second. It might be important." 

Maria glanced around at the others, obviously uncertain, although Michael didn't miss that she skipped over him. He just hoped she remembered that the being in front of her had as good as kidnapped Liz. Far worse, he'd killed a number of people. His truce with Nasedo aside, he just didn't trust the shapeshifter. Not with Maria. She wouldn't be stupid enough to trust him, would she? With growing frustration, Michael watched her look right through him again and turn to Max for guidance. 

"I don't know," Max told her. 

"What's the problem?" asked Tess. "It's just a reading. It won't hurt her." She turned to Isabel. "You know it's harmless, you've done it. It's perfectly safe." 

"Maybe _it's_ safe. But is he?" Isabel answered, getting directly to the point. "Nasedo. You've never shown an interest in the welfare of humans before, have you? You've pretty much considered them expendable. So why should we trust our friend to your hands?" 

He remained uncowed, accepting her harsh appraisal of his priorities. "Because you and your brother can protect her. You have worked in concert before, yes?" 

Isabel nodded. Michael wondered what she meant. Had she and Max been hiding stuff from him again? Then he silently berated himself. Max had kept the link stable, back when she'd taken Maria into Michael's dreams. That was all she meant. 

"One of you can monitor her, to see for yourself that she isn't being harmed. The other can stand ready to break the connection. You won't need to, but it's not inappropriate if it will make you feel more comfortable." 

Maria hesitated for a moment, then assented. "Okay. I'm in." 

"You're sure?" asked Max. 

"I don't trust him, but I trust you two," she said positively. What the hell did she think she was doing? 

"All right. Isabel, you link with Maria," Max suggested. "You've done it before, so it might be easier for you to get in." 

Isabel smiled, then moved to Maria's side and clasped her shaking hand. "Just like before," she teased. "I see nothing above a PG rating." Maria grinned nervously back. 

"Any other objections?" asked Nasedo, glancing at the rest of them. The three humans held their peace, although Alex pointedly grabbed the sledgehammer. Fuming, Michael alone didn't acquiesce. 

"I don't think--" 

His angry protest didn't get far. "No, sometimes you don't," Maria said vehemently, glaring at him. Then she composed her face and turned to Nasedo, her tone sweet. "Go right ahead." She closed her eyes and tensed. 

Equally tense, Michael watched as Nasedo's fingertips grazed her cheek. Without warning, Maria smiled. "You don't feel all that different from anybody else," she said. "I don't know why I expected you to feel all slimy and tentacled; Michael doesn't. But for an extraterrestrial murderer you feel pretty human." Michael winced. Way to piss off the extraterrestrial murderer, Maria, he thought. 

The fingers withdrew, and Maria opened her eyes. Nasedo was staring at her with a peculiar expression on his face. 

"What?" she asked. 

The shapeshifter glanced over at Michael; then he shook his head, just the slightest bit. Michael got the feeling there was something else he'd decided not to tell them. Great. "You can sense Michael," Nasedo explained, "because you're linked to him." 

"What?" 

"How?" 

The babble of voices rose to surround them, but Maria cut through it without even having to raise her own voice. "What does that mean, exactly?" 

"It's quite unusual. Something in you resonates with Michael's energy pattern." 

"His what?" 

"Every being has its own individual energy pattern, that others react to unconsciously. You might call it a vibe. Yours has been adapted to mesh with his." 

She stared at him, looking almost as confused as Michael felt. "How did it happen?" 

"He did it." 

Michael could practically feel the weight of six pairs of eyes on him. He kept his fixed on the shapeshifter. "How?" he asked hoarsely, all anger forgotten. 

"I'm not certain of the mechanics of the process," Nasedo admitted. "But I got a sense of when it happened." He said to Maria, "Your hair was green...does that ring a bell?" 

"The Crash Festival!" Liz gasped. "Last year, when we were trying to throw Sheriff Valenti off Max's trail. Michael put the handprint on you, remember?" 

"It was just paint!" Michael denied. "I didn't do anything to her!" 

"Yes, you did," the shapeshifter confirmed. "You may not have done it on purpose; in fact, you may not even have known you did it. But you attuned her to you. And over time, with more contact, the link strengthened." 

Feeling the blood drain from his face, Michael backed away from them. "Fix it." 

"It's not something you fix, Michael." 

Liz's brow was wrinkled. "What does it mean, though? Is it dangerous?" 

"No. It won't hurt her. Think of it as a sixth sense, like sight or hearing." 

"You mean she sees dead people?" quipped Alex. 

Nasedo ignored him. Maybe he'd been too busy tracking down the three of them to spend much time at the movie theater, because even Michael had seen that one. Didn't matter; this wasn't the time for jokes anyway. Unperturbed, Nasedo continued, "It's harmless; it's just an added ability. It's not dissimilar to the link between pod-sibs or, for that matter, the pair-bond of marriage--" 

"The _what?_" 

Michael could hear the horror in his own voice. Nasedo smiled and assured him, "I said it's like those links, not that it was one. Don't worry, Michael. Unless the two of you have run off to Las Vegas without telling anyone, you haven't inadvertently participated in either planet's version of a marriage ritual." 

Unbelievably, Maria chuckled. "Well, that's good. Because I never pictured my wedding including a fake hit-and-run or a groom decked out in the latest rubber-mask alien chic." How could she find any humor in this? In what he'd done to her? 

"You're sure it's safe?" Liz persisted. Well, at least _someone_ was taking this seriously. 

"It won't hurt her, and it certainly won't hurt Michael. In fact, it may come in handy, just as it did in finding him today. But it is permanent; they will be linked until one of them dies," Nasedo answered. 

"You see, Michael? You're not going to get away from me that easily," Maria began to tease. Michael just looked at her, and the smile faded from her face. She looked disappointed. She _should_ look disappointed. Horrified. She should hate him. 

"Uh...I hate to break in on this little lecture, and I'm definitely missing backstory here, but your friend over there is awake," Kyle said, pointing at the bound alien in the corner. Michael glanced over. Sure enough, his own brown eyes were open and staring at them with hostility. 

Michael pulled himself together, prepared to defend Bob, and thereby his mother, if need be. But Nasedo didn't take any action towards the other alien. Instead, he smiled and spoke. 

"I believe I just might have a way to deal with that."  
  
  



	33. Chapter 33

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 33**_

"How?" Michael asked skeptically. But before he could get an answer, Max stopped him. 

"Hold on," he cautioned. "I don't think Bob needs to hear this." 

With a nod, Michael strode towards the fallen shapeshifter, who pushed himself into a sitting position. Michael looked down on him, keeping his face expressionless. "Got something on your mind?" he said, recognizing the anger in the other alien's eyes. 

"What are you doing, boy?" Bob hissed. "Pull yourself together and release me!" 

His response was swift and fierce. "No." 

"Do what I tell you!" Bob commanded roughly, ignoring his less than omnipotent current situation. When Michael made no move to obey, the other alien's face screwed up into a vicious snarl. 

It would have been an ugly expression on anyone's face, but it was particularly horrible to see it on this replica of his own, Michael thought. He usually tried to hide what he felt under a carefully arranged mask of indifference; he hoped no one had ever seen this twisted expression on his features. 

"You know, here on this planet," Maria chimed in, "we have a little thing called free will, maybe you've heard of it. Michael does what _he_ wants to do. Good luck in talking him into anything different," she added a little sourly. 

Stung by the rancor in her voice, Michael shot her a glance, but quickly pulled his gaze back to the shapeshifter. 

"Your mistake was trying to hurt the people I care about," he told Bob. "I told you I wasn't gonna let you hurt anybody. You should have believed me." 

Bob protested, "You know what you were made to do. I unlocked the ability and desire in you so you could do it. I read you--you want him dead as much as I do." 

Michael's voice was firm. "No. I don't." 

"But I saw--" 

"You saw what I wanted you to see, all right? I am nowhere near on your side." 

Bob began to protest again, struggling against the handcuffs that bound him, but Michael cut him off. "Can it. Discussion's over." He turned to Max. "Do you think you can put him under so we can talk?" he asked, remembering how the other alien had put him to sleep, back during the whole crazy dreamwalking thing. "Or I can pound on him for a while, 'til he's unconscious," he offered with a humorless smirk. "Since he's so proud of unlocking my violent side." It was odd; the prospect didn't revolt him, like thoughts of violence usually did. 

"I can try," Max said, stepping in rather quickly, as if unnerved by the offer. Ignoring the bound shapeshifter's snarls, he crouched by his side and laid a hand on his forehead. For a moment, he began to draw back. Michael silently urged his friend to get on with it. Hell, Max could even pretend it was really him instead of his double, if it would help him ignore the darkness he was probably encountering in Bob's mind. 

As if he'd heard, Max looked over at him. Then he set his jaw and bent back to the task at hand. A few minutes later the fiery eyes closed and the head rolled limply to the side. 

Letting himself relax a little, Michael slid down to the floor, resting his forearms across his bent knees. 

"He should be unconscious for a while," Max said as he rose shakily. Michael caught Nasedo staring at Max with what was clearly respect. 

"Before, you would never have done that," the shapeshifter told Max. "You'd heal, but not use your powers against someone else. You were too...good." 

"He's still good!" Isabel shot at him. 

Nasedo gave a little half-shrug. "There's a difference between being good solely for good's sake and being a good leader," he commented. "I suspect you're leaning somewhere towards the latter. How else, young as you are, could you inspire such loyalty from your second?" 

"We're friends," Max said simply. 

The shapeshifter looked skeptical. "I think there's more to it than that. Friendship alone wouldn't cause someone to go through what the second has. I doubt you'll ever truly understand what he's dealing with." Michael dropped his gaze to the floor. He didn't _want_ Max to have to understand. Better for him not to know. The shapeshifter continued, "It's extraordinary. I look forward to seeing what you make of yourself, Max. It may prove to be quite spectacular." 

As if sensing Michael's lingering discomfort, Max changed the subject. "What did you mean about a way to deal with Bob?" he asked. 

"I wouldn't have supposed it possible before," Nasedo explained. "But now that I know what the second did to the girl, it may be possible to put the traitor out of commission permanently." He raised a hand to cut off Michael's protest. "Not kill him, just remove the problem." 

"And how do we do that?" asked Tess. 

"You don't. Michael and I do," Nasedo answered. "Your enemy is a shapeshifter, among other things. What we do is force him into a shape that is harmless, and imprison him in it." 

"But why Michael?" Tess asked, her face clouded. "If it's because he's related to Bob, then I--" 

Nasedo shook his head. "That has nothing to do with it. Michael has accessed his powers, and is now an untapped source of energy. He provides the power, my ability to shift puts the key into the lock, and he turns it." 

"What has that got to do with what he did to Maria?" asked Isabel. Michael gritted his teeth at the reminder. 

"Somehow he altered her energy pattern. It shouldn't have been possible, but it happened. If he could do that, it's very possible he can make a similar change in the enemy, to alter his energy pattern so that his shapechanging abilities shift out of phase, rendering them inaccessible." 

"You mean like taking them offline?" Alex asked, trying to put the concept into a framework he could understand. "The hardware is still there, but the software doesn't run?" 

A pause, then Nasedo answered, "Certainly." He didn't sound all that sure, though. Alex looked surprised--he probably couldn't imagine anyone, not even an alien who'd been on the run for fifty years, having trouble picking up a few computer basics. 

"Yes, but how does he do it?" Isabel asked. "Changing ketchup into mustard is one thing; this is on a whole other scale." 

"How did you change Maria?" Liz asked, turning to Michael. 

He glanced at her uneasily, but answered. "I don't know. I didn't mean to do anything to her." 

Tess sank gracefully to a sitting position on the hard concrete. "A lot of what we do is controlled by our minds," she said thoughtfully. "We think it, and our powers make it happen. So what were you thinking about at the time, Michael? Do you remember?" 

Michael scowled at her. "I was thinking it wasn't gonna work, that Valenti wouldn't buy it and we'd end up on a dissecting table, all because Max had to save his stupid human crush," he said bluntly. 

Across the room, Maria sucked in a breath of air, but Liz didn't flinch away as Michael met her eyes. "That was before," he added less harshly. He left it at that, but Liz seemed to understand what he was trying to say. She smiled at him in support. 

"What else were you thinking?" she asked. "Do you remember?" 

His gaze shifted out of focus for a moment as he thought back to that time over a year earlier. "That we should've gotten the hell out of Roswell," he added. 

"That doesn't seem to connect with what happened to Maria," she mused, her brow furrowed. "Do you remember anything else?" 

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. 

"What exactly happened anyway?" Alex asked. "This was before I was in on the big secret, remember? I never did get the whole story." 

"We had to get the suspicion off Max," Liz explained. "Make Sheriff Valenti think someone else out there was the one leaving silver handprints and healing people. So we set up a fake car accident, with Maria as the victim." 

"I had to lie on the ground and let Michael pretend to heal me," Maria put in. 

Kyle looked confused. "So why didn't my dad go after Michael then?" 

Liz flushed. "Because he was wearing a costume, one that looked just like yours. Your father wouldn't suspect you, so...." Her voice trailed off. 

"So all that about meeting me at the Festival, that was just to get my dad off Max's back?" Kyle asked slowly. 

"I'm so sorry, Kyle. But it was all we could think of," Liz said, her brown eyes full of concern and regret. 

Kyle lapsed into silence. "At the time, your father was a real threat. He wasn't on our side," Isabel added. Michael didn't know if she felt a need to explain further or was just making excuses. It didn't matter, anyway. Liz was right; they'd done what they had to. 

Max brought them back to the point. "Does that refresh your memory at all?" he asked Michael. 

"Yeah, I remember just how pissed off I was," Michael shot back. 

"Come on, Michael. Close your eyes and picture it," Isabel said helpfully. "We've just faked the accident. You're kneeling beside Maria. You put the handprint on her and get ready to run. What else are you thinking?" 

"Nothing." But Michael couldn't look at her, and she pounced. 

"Not nothing! You're hiding something, Michael. What?" 

"I'm not hiding anything!" he protested. "That's all I remember." 

"No, it isn't," Isabel insisted. "I know you better than that." 

Goddammit! Couldn't she leave things alone for once? If having a real sister was anything like this, maybe he was better off without one. "Look, it's not important, okay?" Was that his own voice sounding so damn whiny? He needed to get a grip, and fast. 

"It might be," Max commented. Michael stared at him with burning eyes, rejecting the idea that he was going to have to share what was on his mind. He was starting to feel trapped. Gently, Max urged him to go on. "Bob poses a threat to all of us. And if whatever you're keeping to yourself could help us figure out how to remove that threat, then you need to share it." 

"It can't help, okay?" 

Max was adamant. "I really think we need to know, Michael." 

"Fine," Michael spat, his jaw clenched. "Soft. I thought she was soft." 

"I...I beg your pardon?" stammered Isabel. 

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Michael continued tautly. 

"Wait--you felt her up?" asked a suddenly interested Kyle. 

"No, I did not feel her up!" shouted Michael, his face reddening. "I was supposed to get the paint on her, not her clothes. She was wearing this...this...kinda low-necked thing--" 

"Scoop necked?" asked Isabel, seeming fascinated by his discomposure. He ignored her and blustered on. 

"And there she was, this stupid blabbermouth girl, and our lives maybe depended on her pulling this off, and I touched her and she was...she was just soft, okay? I never--" He cut off, then bit out, "Are we done humiliating me now?" 

There was silence. Michael went back to studying his rings, unwilling to look at any of them. He'd be damned if he'd humiliate himself any further. 

But he didn't have to. Someone else spoke first. 

"Gentle." 

Michael's head jerked up and his eyes fastened on Maria's as she crossed slowly to him. She spoke as if no one else was in the room. "I was lying there in the gravel, scared to death of all of you, of what you would do to me. I mean, bad enough that you were this scary unwashed trailer park guy, but then you had to go and be an alien to boot. Who probably wanted to kill us all. And then you were there, and you put your hand on my chest, and you were so gentle, like I'd break. And then I wasn't afraid any more. Well," she corrected herself with a wry laugh, "Not _as_ afraid, anyway." 

"Maria--" His eyes burned into hers. 

Kneeling before him, she placed a gentle hand out to cup his cheek. "Hey. We're friends, remember, Spaceboy?" 

He hesitated, but finally nodded. "Doesn't mean I'm not still pissed as hell that you came after me, though," he said soberly. 

"We'll have that out later, okay?" she suggested. "That and a whole bunch of other things. But we'll save it for after we're done here." 

"Yeah," he said, not missing the warning in her voice. She scooted over to sit against the wall next to him. He let out a deep breath. "Okay," he said to the room at large. "So now what?" 

"Ummm," Alex began hesitantly. "So at the time you weren't specifically thinking about...uh, linking her to you?" 

Maria snorted. "This isn't a Harlequin Romance, Alex. Believe me, it was _so_ not love at first touch." 

"I didn't even like her," Michael rushed to make clear. 

"Believe me, the feeling was very mutual," Maria added. "Even if he was kind of cute. In a really weird scruffy, unwashed way." 

He unbent enough to roll his eyes at that remark. "Well at least I didn't have to get all hyped up on cedar oil to get the job done." Alex laughed, and Michael shot him an aggrieved look. "So save the whole undying soulmate crap for Max and Liz," he said. "That wasn't us." 

The two so-described soulmates glanced towards each other and then away. Tess looked at them speculatively. 

"Well this is all very well and good," said Nasedo, who'd been silent for some time, "But it's not altogether helpful." 

"So what do you suggest then?" Michael demanded, pushing himself to his feet. He ran an unsteady hand through his disheveled hair. "I don't know what I did to Maria, much less how the hell I'm supposed to fix this!" 

"We'll figure it out," Max said reassuringly as Michael began to move restlessly around that end of the room. Michael didn't get far, however; stopping in his tracks, he stared at Bob, his thoughts chaotic. Then he spoke. 

"No. No, we won't." He straightened up and turned to Max. "_I'll_ figure it out." He overrode the objections that began to arise. "This is my deal. I'll handle it." 

"You need help!" Isabel burst out. 

Michael swung his head to look at her. "Yeah, I do. His," he said, pointing to Nasedo. 

"Michael--" 

He cut her off. "This is my mess. For once I'm cleaning it up myself." 

"It's me he's after," Max pointed out gravely. "That makes it my mess." 

"No, it doesn't. Not when it's my hands he was gonna use." Michael met his king's eyes. "My hands, my...my uncle. _My mess._" 

Max must have seen his determination, because he spoke without hesitation. "All right." 

For a moment, Michael felt almost surprised. But Max was looking at him with such confidence and...and respect? The king reached out to grasp his shoulder, and the two of them stood, for once letting nothing but support and understanding flow between them. 

"Okay then." Michael felt compelled to add a condition. "But I want all of you out of here before we do it. In case something goes wrong. It's not the energy part, I can do that." He shook his head. "You have no idea how it feels to be able to _know_ you can actually do something. Well no, you already do know that," he corrected himself. Max smiled, and for a moment Michael almost smiled back. Too much preyed on his mind, though, and he rushed on, "But the other part...blocking his shifting power...how do I do that? I could end up doing something wrong. What if instead of blocking his power I make it stronger? Or what if I blow all of us up?" 

"And what if there's an earthquake and this whole bunker is swallowed up and ground into tiny bits?" Nasedo put in. "I've given you a viable solution. I doubt you'll find another one that will satisfy your trivial criteria." 

An indignant Maria rounded on him. "Wanting his mother to live is not trivial," she exclaimed angrily. "Or do aliens not understand the concept of family?" 

"Don't listen to him, Michael. You can do this," said Isabel, moving to his side and placing a hand on his shoulder. 

"Then trust me to try. For once in my life, let me take care of things. I need to." 

"We brought the Jeep and Kyle's convertible," Max said. "They're parked outside. We'll wait for you there." Michael nodded. 

"We'll make a trail so you can find the entrance," added Tess. 

"I can't believe this! You're just going to leave?" Maria burst out. 

Max answered, speaking for all the aliens. "Yes." 

"The sooner you go, the sooner we can get started," the shapeshifter said. 

Several of them started moving towards the door. But Maria remained rooted to the floor, her hands clutching the bundle of crystals, a defiant look on her face. 

"I'm not going," she said stubbornly. "I am not about to walk away, I'll be immovable. Permanent. A rock--" 

"Oh, the hell with this." With a sudden move, Michael strode forward and grabbed her, swinging her over his shoulder. Ignoring the others, he started for the doorway. It took a moment, but she soon recovered from her shock and began to struggle. 

"Put me down! Michael Guerin, you--you Neanderthal, get your hands off me!" 

"Stop wiggling. I don't wanna drop you," was all the response he gave her. 

Holding her as best he could, he stood by the door and gestured with a tip of the head for the rest of them to leave. They passed quickly through the doorway, wearing a variety of expressions from shock to amusement. Stepping through after them, Michael set Maria down rather gently, but didn't even glance in her direction as he went back into the room, pulling the metal door firmly shut behind him. 

Without even having to think about it, he placed one palm over the lock and engaged it. There. Max, Isabel or Tess could still get in, but they all seemed to be supporting his decision to do this alone. Unlike Maria. Luckily, she wouldn't be able to get in by herself, and the door was soundproof enough that he couldn't hear the invective she was probably screaming at him right now. 

It was bad enough that she'd gotten everyone to come after him even though he'd said not to. She couldn't have missed the message he'd left on her mirror. Not that she was vain, but she was a girl, and they spent time in front of mirrors. It was just a fact of life. So she'd seen the note and come anyway. 

And then, of all people, she wouldn't agree to let him do this on his own. That shook him, more than he'd like. Didn't she think he could do it? He hadn't exactly been terrific with his powers before--that was putting it mildly, he'd sucked--but out of everyone, she'd always shown the most faith in what he could do, no matter what the state of their relationship. More faith than Max or Isabel, in some ways. And to have her doubt him when for once he actually thought he could do it, or at least part of it...that scared him. 

And it was all because of the link he'd created between them, which he hadn't even done on purpose. But that didn't really matter, did it? Whether he'd meant to or not, he'd changed her--No. Call it what it was. He'd _damaged_ her. So how could he blame her for doubting him now? 

And what if there was more to it than that? Over the last year, they'd found themselves drawn to each other. Somehow, though it was beyond his comprehension how it happened, they'd loved each other. He'd truly believed it. 

But what if that wasn't true? What if everything she'd felt for him was a byproduct of the damage he'd done? If the 'rightness' of their being together, which flew in the face of so much that said they were wrong, was really just the comfort of a matching energy pattern? 

What if what she felt for him wasn't real? Or maybe even worse, what if he'd _made_ her feel it? 

"Michael?" The voice brought him back to his surroundings, and he looked up to find Nasedo staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. 

Okay. Shake it off. He had a job to do. He needed to prove to them that he could handle this without screwing it up. Prove it to himself. 

Taking a deep breath, he moved to Nasedo's side. "Okay. Let's do it."  
  
  



	34. Chapter 34

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 34**_

Unable to sit still, Maria stalked back and forth in a rather futile attempt to stay warm. Bad enough that Michael had ejected her--forcibly yet!--from the room, but then the rest of them had dragged her--although less forcibly--away and back into the winter weather. She had no idea how long they'd been out there in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, but she felt chilled through. And she suspected that only part of it was from the temperature. 

She would have thought her anger would be enough to keep her warm. She'd told Michael she was tired of him shutting her out, and then he'd gone and done it again. Didn't he know how much that hurt her? She'd gone along with all his wishes, not pushing him to open up more than he wanted to, letting him set the pace, and she'd even gone along when the bonehead cut himself off from everyone. It didn't matter that she had no idea why he'd wanted it. Michael had asked her to, and she'd complied. 

She'd counted on him to help her and her mother when Bob had taken them hostage, and he had. He hadn't hesitated--he'd just come to their rescue in his usual rush-into-action way. So why wouldn't Michael count on her in return? Why did he refuse to let her help? It was so darn frustrating. _He_ was so darn frustrating. 

And then--the final straw--for Michael to pick her up and bodily _move_ her out of his way-- 

"Is it helping any?" 

"Huh?" she said, stopping and looking at Alex, who'd climbed out of the now closed-in Jeep where he'd been talking to Isabel. 

"Your pacing. Is it helping?" 

"No," she huffed. "But it's better than just sitting there waiting for Mr. Great Wall of China to finish saving the world all by himself." 

Alex's voice was mild. "Come on, Maria. I think you're being a little hard on him." 

"Whose side are you on, anyway?" she asked crossly. 

He put out his hands to placate her. "Hey, I'm not taking sides. I just think you're getting too worked up over this." 

"Alex, he threw me out. We came all this way to save his sorry butt and he _threw me out!_" 

"He didn't let anyone else stay, either, except for Nasedo. Maybe this was something he needed to do on his own." 

"Friends don't let friends do stuff alone! They're there for them!" she protested. 

"Even when they're specifically asked to? You can't live in each other's pockets, 'Ria." 

"I know that, I do. It's just.... I was so worried about him." 

"And he's okay. We're all okay, and soon we're all going to be a lot safer. So you should be celebrating, not wearing a path into the ground." 

Darn it! How could he be so rational? "I can't help it. I'm angry!" she wailed. 

Alex smiled. "Yeah, I noticed." He put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "C'mon. Let's go talk to the others." 

She allowed him to lead the way to Kyle's convertible. The passengers climbed out, and Isabel soon joined them. 

"What's up?" asked Max. Maria was peeved that he managed to look so calm. That _everyone_ looked so calm, when her skin was practically jumping off her body. She desperately wanted some cedar oil. Or Michael. Or both. 

"It's getting late, and we're hours from home," Isabel said. "And I have a feeling we'll need to talk once Michael gets here. I think we should find someplace to stay and head back to Roswell tomorrow." 

"We were thinking the same thing," her brother said with a smile. 

"Is this some kind of twin telepathy thing?" joked Alex. 

"Just thinking along the same lines," Max answered. "Any objections to an overnight?" 

"Just the usual parental issues," Liz said. 

"When I called my dad to tell him we found Michael, he said he'd cover for us. Max and Alex, you're officially staying at my house tonight; the girls are at Maria's," reported Kyle. 

Max nodded. "Good thinking. Even if we left now, we wouldn't get back before four or so. We passed a motel on the way here. We can get a couple of rooms and head out in the morning." 

"I'll let dad know." 

"No, I should call my mother anyway," Maria said, gloomy at the prospect. "She's probably going nuts as it is." Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed the number; it was picked up almost before it could ring. 

"Hey, Mom. We're fine, everything's fine," Maria began in as cheery a tone as she could muster, trying to head off any outbursts of concern. "We found Michael, did Sheriff Valenti tell you?.... Yeah, he's fine too.... Actually, I'm not sure exactly where we are, but it's far enough away that we don't want to drive it. We're going to find a motel to stay at." She listened for a moment, her face clouding over. She sighed. "No, Mom, I am not spending the night in a motel room with Michael," she said, rolling her eyes. "I will be spending it with Liz, Isabel and Tess. Are you still worried?" She gritted her teeth, doing her best to remain patient and only partially succeeding. "Yes, I will call you with the name of the motel when we get there, I promise. Will you let the Sheriff know?.... Okay.... _Okay._ Believe me, it is so not an issue right now.... Fine. I'll see you tomorrow." Shutting off her phone with a jab, she commented, "I don't know if she's more freaked by me running all over creation because of the latest alien crisis or by the fear that I'm going to sleep with Michael." 

"She's your mother," Liz pointed out knowingly. "She'd probably worry about your spending the night with any guy, except maybe Al--_Even_ Alex," she hastened to say, catching the look on his face. 

"Gee, thanks, Liz," he drawled. "Now I don't feel emasculated at all." 

Isabel smiled. "Don't worry. _My_ mother would be nervous if she thought I was spending the night with you." Alex's face brightened. 

"Actually, so would I," warned her brother with a grin. "That's why the two rooms. Girls in one, guys in the other." 

"That's assuming we can even find the motel. Or any motel. We don't even know where _we_ are," Maria said. 

"Actually, I took notes as we went," confessed Liz. "It might not be the shortest route home, but we should be able to retrace our steps." 

"We should have known," chorused her two oldest friends. Alex caught Maria's eye and they both laughed. 

"Now that's cleared up, maybe we should wait in the cars," suggested Liz. "I think it's getting colder." 

Kyle flipped up the collar of his jacket in an attempt to get warm. "How long are we going to give Guerin, anyway? A few hours is one thing; a few days is something else." 

The answer to his question didn't really matter, though. Maria was well aware that Michael was finally approaching, though her back was towards him. Her stomach felt jittery, and not just because she was linked to him. 

Luckily she didn't need to say anything. "Here he comes!" cried Tess as she spotted him. The small blonde alien sounded pleased. 

Slowly Maria turned. There was enough moonlight to see him as he approached. Hands in his pockets, he slouched down into his jacket; whether from exhaustion or the cold, Maria couldn't tell. He moved slowly, setting down his feet as though unsure of his own steadiness. His head was bowed, but not so much that she missed the grim set of his mouth, a thin line across his pale face. 

But as he neared, he straightened up to meet Max's gaze squarely. 

"It's done?" asked Max, his voice grave. 

Michael gave a single, slow nod, and a babble of voices rose up. Max looked like he wanted to tell Michael what a good job he'd done, but was afraid it might sound patronizing. So he contented himself with a literal pat on the back. 

This show of support didn't seem to give any comfort. "I don't wanna talk about it. Not right now," Michael stated baldly. "It was..." Searching for the right word, he finally settled on, "...hard." 

"Where's Nasedo?" asked Tess. 

"Not coming." 

"What?" 

"He found another entrance, the one Bob probably used. Big enough to drive the car into," Michael said abruptly. "He's going to seal it up. He'll meet us back in Roswell." 

"We're not going back tonight," Isabel told him. "We're going to find someplace to stay, so we can talk." Noting his look of discomfort, she quickly added, "And so you can take a much-needed shower. You look particularly grubby, even for you." 

"You get drugged and imprisoned and have your mind fucked with for two days, and see if you're still all neat and tidy," he shot back, but his tone wasn't harsh. Rather, it was hollow, as if he were reacting because he knew it was expected rather than from anger. Maria bit her lip to keep from asking if he was okay. She was too ticked to play nice with him. 

Alex stepped in. "I could use something to eat, too. We missed dinner, and all this stress makes me hungry." 

"Let's head out, then," decided Max. 

Maria spoke quickly. "I'm riding with Liz this time," she said, stepping to her friend's side and latching onto her arm. 

Max looked at her with some surprise, but didn't argue. "Fine. I'll go in the Jeep. D'you want me to drive, Iz?" 

"Sure," she said. "I think it's your turn." 

"Kyle, we'll follow you, since Liz has the directions." 

The jock nodded and opened the door to the convertible, allowing Liz and Maria to clamber into the back. Without a word and without looking at anyone else, Michael climbed into the back of the Jeep and sat there, staring out the side flap. The convertible's headlights illuminated the landscape that led to the underground bunker as Kyle swung it around in a U-turn. The Jeep followed. 

Several times during the trip, Isabel glanced into the back seat. Michael sat, unmoving, eyes focused on something outside of the moving vehicle. He never looked up, and he never spoke. He didn't seem to be paying any attention to the light conversation that the other three batted back and forth, thanks mostly to Alex's efforts. By the time they'd followed Kyle's car into the motel parking lot, the small talk had faltered. 

"I'll go check us in," Max said. 

"Do you need money?" asked Isabel. "If you put it on the emergency credit card Dad gave you, we're going to have to explain it." 

Her brother shook his head. "I've got my debit card with me. They should take that." 

Isabel watched him stop by the other car and then head to the motel office. It took about ten minutes before he headed back their way, two keycards in hand. "We're over on the other side of the building," he said as he started the Jeep. "You're in 214 and we're in 217. The night manager has a couple of cots we can set up as well." 

Looking at the building, Isabel was somewhat relieved to see that it looked fairly decent. Nothing at all like the rat-trap they'd found Michael and Maria in on their ill-conceived quest for Atherton's dome. She might actually be able to get a decent night's sleep tonight. 

But first she needed to take care of Michael. She wasn't sure that he'd even noticed that they'd arrived at the motel, his thoughts were so obviously elsewhere. She'd get him clean and fed, hoping that tending to the body would help tend to the obvious ache in his soul. 

Within a matter of minutes, the eight teenagers were ensconced in their rooms. The Evans siblings had a quick confab outside and then moved to organize things. Kyle and Alex volunteered to go scrounge up some dinner while Max checked on getting the cots. Left with strict orders from Isabel to 'hop in the shower, pronto', Michael stood for a moment in the middle of the room. When he did move, though, it wasn't in the direction of the bathroom. 

Instead he found himself outside the room three doors down. He took a deep breath, reached out, and knocked. 

Isabel swung the door open, an exasperated look on her face. "Michael, I thought you were going to get cleaned up," she reminded him. "There's a difference between the grunge look and actually looking grungy, you know." 

Not bothering to respond, he looked past her to find Maria. She was sitting with Liz on the edge of one of the double beds, pointedly not looking in his direction. Liz looked up, unwanted sympathy in her eyes. 

He summoned his voice. "I came for the crystals," he said. 

"Oh, okay," replied Isabel, stepping aside. Michael stayed in the doorway and waited. 

When there was no reaction from within the room, Isabel turned her head to look. "Maria?" 

"Yes, Isabel?" 

"Michael wants the crystals." 

"I know. I heard him." But she didn't move. 

"Maria." Isabel sounded a little exasperated this time. 

"What? Oh, you want me to give them to him?" Maria asked, purposefully innocent. "'Cause I figured he'd just come in and carry them out on his own, whether they wanted to go or not." 

Michael just stood in the doorway, saying nothing. Trying not to let her attitude affect him. After all, he'd done what he had to, and he wasn't going to apologize for it. 

"I'll give them to him," offered Tess. She took a few steps towards Maria, but was stopped almost immediately. 

"Don't bother," Maria said as she stood. "If he wants them, he can have them." Crossing swiftly to the doorway, she thrust the bundle into Michael's hands. "There." 

He looked at her for a moment, then turned to leave. 

"Michael?" 

He turned. 

Her voice didn't conceal her anger. "You might as well take this one, too." Pulling her own crystal from her pocket, she tossed it at him. 

He didn't even attempt to catch it, just stood there and let it strike him and bounce gently off his body to the ground. He looked at her, striving with all his might to seem unaffected. 

With what might have been a sob, Maria shut the door in his face.  
  
  
*****  


The knock on the door broke his introspection. "Michael? Food's here," said Alex loudly. Michael's stomach rumbled in response. He had almost forgotten how hungry he was. Half a sandwich in two and a half days just didn't cut it. Running the towel roughly over his damp hair, he decided that Isabel had been right. He felt refreshed, as if the warm water of the shower had washed away some of the events of the past few days, lightening his burdens. 

Now that he was paying attention, he could hear voices out in the room. There was another knock on the door, but this time Valenti's voice accompanied it. "Come on, Guerin. Stop primping and get your ass out here before it gets cold." 

Like he had to worry about that. He was fairly sure that he could easily heat up anything that had grown cold. Nice to be certain of his powers for once. And he did _not_ primp--if he did, he'd be outside the tiny bathroom at the sink, where the big mirror was. And since he had no desire to stare at the ugly mark Bob had left on his cheek, he was avoiding mirrors altogether until he could get it taken care of. 

Deciding that his hair was as dry as it needed to be--in other words, it wasn't actually dripping down his neck--he abandoned his boots, socks and shirt in a haphazard pile in the corner of the small bathroom. Barefoot and shirtless, he opened the door and stepped out. Ignoring the chatter of conversation in the room, he took the three necessary steps to get to the counter. He'd left the bundle there. 

Carefully unwrapping it, he piled the crystals on a hand towel so they wouldn't roll off the counter. Then he took the shirt they'd been wrapped in and pulled it on over his head. 

He'd recognized it for what it was when he'd first seen the bundle Maria clutched so tightly, but he hadn't really thought about it. It was only when he was heading towards the shower that he'd given it a second thought, and it had seemed so logical. She'd brought one of his T-shirts with her, so why not wear it instead of the one he'd been wearing since Thursday? If nothing else, it might get Isabel off his back. And so he'd gone to get the bundle from Maria. 

It hadn't crossed his mind that she'd be so pissed off that she'd throw her own crystal, the one he'd given her, back at him. Sure, she had every right to be angry at him for a lot of things, of which hauling her out of the room so he and Nasedo could deal with Bob was just the latest, but enough was enough. He'd just wanted his T-shirt; what was the big deal about that? And she'd taken it and the crystals from his apartment without asking, so shouldn't _he_ be the one who was angry? 

And he was, he realized. Along with the persistent stream of guilt that ran through his mind was also a trickle of anger. Anger that threatened to bubble up and overpower if he wasn't careful. Swallowing it down, he ran his hand through his damp hair and turned around to face the room. 

Seven teenagers were scattered round the room, sitting on the two beds, the cot, and the chairs, making heavy inroads into their late-night dinner. "We got burgers," Valenti said, tossing Michael a paper bag. Deftly catching it, Michael decided he was starting to get used to having his food delivered in this manner. Of course, the last time, it had been drugged. Somehow he was a lot more willing to eat this. Liz passed him a cold soda, and he sat on the bed next to Isabel to open it. 

Wolfing down the burger and the fries that accompanied it, he didn't pay much attention to the conversation that surrounded him, but he did look up to see Isabel watching him with narrowed eyes. 

"He didn't feed you?" she asked in a low voice. He'd been kidnapped, drugged, branded, had his mind ripped open to uncover a grisly violent side that scared the hell out of him, and the thing that bothered her the most was if he got fed? 

"Just hungry," he mumbled back, not wanting to get into the joys of captivity. "Used a lot of energy." 

"So I see," she commented dryly. "Here." She handed over the rest of her french fries. Michael wasn't going to quibble; he was too hungry. He quickly devoured them as well. 

He was sorry when he was finished; not because he was still hungry although he could have cheerfully waded through another meal just like this one, even though without Tabasco it was bland to his taste buds. He just had a feeling that once the eating was over, the talking would begin. And he wasn't exactly looking forward to it. 

Not that the others weren't already talking; they were. But he was gonna have to join in, to try and explain himself, to try to patch things up with them all. All except maybe Valenti. He didn't think he'd done anything to piss the jock off. Great. One down, six to go. 

It was with some trepidation that he realized the buzz of conversation had died down and seven--no, make that six, Maria still wasn't looking--pairs of eyes were fixed on him. 

"What?" he blurted, feeling on the defensive. 

Max, not surprisingly, took the initiative. "So what exactly happened?" he asked. "How did you get your powers under control? What did Bob do to you? And how did you get Nasedo on your side?" 

Maria's voice cut through the room. "And why have you been such an asshole?" 

Well, that got right to the painful point. Michael stiffened, but didn't deny her description. 

"I was an asshole," he said, deliberately copying her tone, "because it was the only way to get away from you all." 

There was silence, and he suddenly realized that they were taking his words the wrong way. "Nasedo and I made a deal. I had to stay away from you for a week, and the only way I could think of was to piss you off enough to keep you away." He shrugged. "So, asshole." 

"I told you he was doing it on purpose!" exclaimed Liz. So at least one of them hadn't bought it. He was a little surprised that it was Liz and not Max or Isabel, who should know him best. Then again, he'd accidentally skipped Liz on his friendship-destroying mission. 

"Why?" asked Max, his eyes steady. 

"Because he thought he could convince you I was dangerous," Michael explained candidly. 

Max shook his head. "No. Why did you make the deal?" 

Oh. "I needed to know something. It was the only way he'd agree to tell me." 

"Tell you what?" 

His answer was blunt. "If Tess was my sister." 

Silence all around. Then, in a voice that actually quivered with excitement, Tess asked, "What did he say?" 

Michael met her eyes. She looked so hopeful, although he didn't know why. He hadn't done anything to make her think he'd be a decent brother. Or maybe she was hoping he wasn't. He hesitated, then softly told her, "He said no." 

For a moment, he didn't think she'd heard him. The expression on her face didn't change. Then she blinked once and gave a toss of her head. The show of unconcern didn't fool Michael, who was too practiced at it himself. 

"You had a brother. But he died when you did. I'm not him." He paused. Maybe he shouldn't have just blurted it out in front of everybody. Maybe he should have told her alone first. When he spoke again, it was so quiet she just managed to hear it. "I'm sorry." 

Tess nodded, then gave him a half-smile. "So am I," she said honestly. Taken aback, Michael looked at her for a moment, then dropped his gaze to his hands. He turned a ring slowly around his finger. 

"So," he said awkwardly, "That's why. I didn't mean to do it like that, but I had to know." 

"Oh, Michael," Isabel breathed softly. He ignored her, not wanting sympathy. 

"It doesn't matter," he said, brushing aside her concern. He took a deep breath, and spoke again, meeting in turn Isabel's gaze, Max's, Alex's, Liz's. Maria wouldn't look at him. "But I owe you all an apology for doing it the way I did. I didn't mean for it to go down that way, it all got outta hand so fast--" He cut himself off. No more excuses. Out of hand or not, his actions had hurt them. 

"I'm sorry," he finished simply. 

Alex, ever quick to forgive, was the first to react. "Wow. A Michael Guerin apology," he commented with a grin. "I get the feeling this doesn't happen very often." 

"Not as a rule, no," Isabel chimed in. Michael could almost hear the relief in her voice. 

"Probably not as often as it should," he admitted. "Unfortunately the asshole part is a little more frequent." 

"Well, everyone needs a hobby," Alex quipped. "Tell you what, though. The next time you feel the need to break up with us, how about just sending a nice Dear John letter?" 

"Or flowers," Isabel suggested. "You can always say it with flowers." She looked like she was tempted to give him a warm hug, but, to his relief, she contented herself with reaching over and squeezing his hand. 

"Welcome back, Michael," was Liz's simple comment. 

From his seat on the cot, Valenti said, "I don't know about the rest of them, but I know how you can make it up to me." 

Michael's eyebrow rose. Make what up to him? He hadn't been there when Michael screwed up all his friendships. And being in the alien in-club didn't make Valenti one of those friends. Neither did a couple of rides and one semi-intense conversation. 

Realizing that Michael wasn't going to ask, the jock went ahead without waiting. "So, seeing that you owe us all one--" 

Michael interrupted with, "I don't owe you anything." 

"Seeing that you owe us all one for coming out here to save your ass," Valenti went on, disregarding the narrowing of Michael's eyes, "I figure for my share you can show up to basketball practice after school on Tuesday." 

"And do what, exactly?" Michael asked warily. 

Valenti looked at him like he'd grown another head. "Try out for the team, sport. What else?" 

Michael stared at him for a moment, not really believing what he'd just heard. Then the corner of his mouth started to twitch, and for the first time in eons, he began to laugh. The sound was strange in his ears. "You...you want _me_ to try out for the _basketball_ team?" he managed to get out. 

"Well, yeah. You're fast, and you've got that alien super-strength going for you." 

"Alien super-strength? You've been reading too many comic books," Michael said. Once again Valenti ignored his protests. 

"So if you've got any skill at all with the ball, you'll improve the team." The jock considered for a moment. "Of course, almost anything would improve the team. You have played before, right? At least in gym class?" 

"Michael likes to cut gym class," Max reminded him. "Especially when anything to do with teams comes up." 

"Which leaves what, track and hopscotch?" Valenti asked petulantly. 

By now, Michael had recovered enough from his laughing fit to shake his head and say, "Not gonna happen, Valenti. The only way in hell you could get me to try out would be to--Nope. Not even then." Feeling strangely lighthearted, he smirked at the jock. 

"Isn't all this nice," said a voice bitterly. "A few little words, and everything's all rosy." 

"Maria--" Liz began, but Michael wasn't going to let her get caught in the middle of this. 

"No. Let her have it out," he said. 

"How magnanimous of you." Maria's voice was taut. 

"Look, you're obviously pissed as hell at me. Fine. So what's it this time? I'm a jerk, I'm an asshole, what?" 

Alex tried to break in. "Maybe you should--" 

Michael was firm. "If she wants to pick a fight with me, let her." 

"Pick a fight with you?" Maria exclaimed icily. "Why should I want to pick a fight with you, Michael? It's not like you've done anything to deserve that. Oh wait, maybe you have." 

Michael found his own temper rising to match hers. "That's right. Blame everything on me, even though I had things under control until you barged in." 

Her voice rose to a shriek. "_Barged in?_ You could have been hurt, or worse! We came to rescue you, and you call it barging in?" 

"Yeah, that's what I call it. You weren't invited to come and 'rescue' me. In fact, you were quite specifically _disinvited._ If you--" 

"_Enough!_" Max's voice cut through the escalating argument. "Michael, Maria, take it outside." Michael opened his mouth to protest, but Max cut him off. "I want you both to leave. And don't come back until you've worked this out." 

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" Maria said furiously. 

Max looked at her, no hint of a smile on his face. "I'm the guy who's going to pick you up and carry you outside if you don't go on your own. You didn't seem to like it much the last time it happened, so you might want to avoid a repeat." 

"Max!" Isabel chided, but stopped objecting when he looked pointedly at her and then winked. "Oh." She shut up. 

Michael watched as Maria looked around the room, getting no support from any of her friends. "I can't believe this," she muttered, then stormed over to the door. "Fine!" she said, slamming the door on her way out. Michael didn't bother to hide his smirk. 

"You too, Michael," Max ordered, not giving in an inch. 

Michael rose from his seat. "Yes, my liege," he mocked. He gave a sarcastic salute that probably would have been more effective if his hair wasn't sticking up in damp locks or if he'd at least been wearing shoes, and went out the door. 

Following him, Max put his hand over the lock and fastened it with a sharp burst of his powers. "There," he said, and turned to face the others. 

"Wow," said Kyle, finding his voice. 

But Liz was smiling. "They wouldn't have gone if they both hadn't wanted to," she commented. "They're just both as stubborn as you can get." 

"Do you really think so?" Tess asked, sounding not at all sure herself. Liz nodded. 

"Maria's only as upset as she is because she loves him," she said simply. 

"And Michael wants Maria to stay out of danger because he loves her," added Isabel indulgently. "He's just not very good at showing it." 

"They'll talk it out and it'll be fine," said Max. 

Kyle looked at him rather skeptically. "Somehow I don't see Guerin as all that good at talking," he said. 

"Maria's good enough for the both of them," Liz assured him. "As long as they can keep from killing each other first, they'll be all right." 

"Sure they will," Max asserted. But he suddenly felt less sure of himself, and his eyes fastened warily onto the door.  
  
  



	35. Chapter 35

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 35**_

Arms crossed, Maria stood outside the room, wondering just why she'd blindly followed Max's orders. He wasn't _her_ king, after all. A moment later, Michael followed her outside, and she glared at him. He wore a tiny, sarcastic half-smirk that could never in a million years pass as a smile. How dare he think this was funny? It was his fault they'd gotten kicked out of the nice warm room. 

He hadn't even had the sense to grab a jacket. She ignored the fact that hers was in the other motel room; at least _she_ wore a sweater. Between his bare feet and his damp hair, Michael was probably going to catch his death of cold, and then she'd end up having to drag his sick, gross body all over creation _again_, just to get him well-- 

Michael interrupted her seething. "Come on," he said, and headed over to the girls' motel room. After a quick glance around, he put his hand over the door lock. Maria couldn't hear the click as it disengaged, but a moment later the door swung freely open. Michael moved to the doorway, then turned to look at her. 

"I'm not standing out here and freezing my ass off," he said. "If you want to, that's up to you." 

It wasn't even his room! If he thought she was going to--oh, who was she kidding? It was too cold. With a short sprint, she managed to catch the door just before it could close completely. Biting her lip, she followed him in. 

She hovered near the doorway and looked around. The room wasn't really any different than earlier, but somehow it seemed smaller with Michael inside. She looked away, pretending to study one of the ugly western-style prints on the wall. Michael sat on the edge of one of the beds, then flopped backwards on it. Maria wondered why he looked so much more comfortable than she felt. 

"So, you can unlock doors now," she commented. 

"Yep," he said, staring up at the ceiling like he was fascinated by the fake stucco that covered it. 

Maria hesitated, not sure why she was feeling upset about it. Michael being able to use his powers was a good thing, right? "That's...that's good." 

"Yep." A pause. He didn't move, not even lifting up his head to look at her as he asked, "So you gonna tell me what I did to piss you off now? 'Cause frankly, I can't keep up." 

"Do you even care?" 

He finally met her eyes. "If I didn't, would I be in here?" he shot back. 

"How should I know?" she snapped. "Every time I think I have a handle on how your brain works, you do something to make me doubt it." 

Michael bolted to his feet, anger clear on his face. "After everything I've been through in the last couple of days, you think--" He cut himself off and clenched his jaw. 

God, he could be so aggravating! Why wouldn't he just tell her? "Go ahead," Maria prodded. "I think what?" 

"Never mind," he said, crossing his arms. 

She threw up her hands in frustration. "See, there you go, shutting me out again! Why do you always have to do that?" 

"I am not trying to shut you out," he answered through gritted teeth. "I just found out I have this whole raw, bloodthirsty violent side which I am _trying_ to deal with controlling before I let it out on you! Goddammit, I am trying to keep you safe!" 

"Since when does being safe become one-sided?" she shouted. "Why is it okay for you to want me safe but not for me to want you safe?" 

"Since I'm responsible for you ending up as a target!" 

"That's not your fault, Michael. My god, why do you always have to blame yourself for everything bad that happens? What Bob did is his own fault, not yours." 

"He wouldn't have come after you if I hadn't given you the crystal," Michael insisted. "Or if I hadn't let myself get close in the first place." 

She let out a sarcastic burst of laughter. "If you hadn't _let_ yourself get close? Michael, you fought it tooth and nail!" 

"That obviously wasn't good enough, was it?" 

"Look, Michael, I am not your responsibility. Give me enough credit to believe I can take care of myself. Unless you think I'm too stupid to be able to do that," she challenged. 

"Come off it, Maria. You're not stupid. Don't be an idiot," he snapped back. 

Without warning, she burst into giggles, and then laughed even harder at the confusion on his face. "Sorry," she chuckled. "It's just that only you would tell me I'm not stupid and that I'm an idiot, all in one breath." 

Michael frowned and ran a hand through his hair. Maria idly wondered if that was why it stuck up all the time. "You know I didn't mean that," he said. 

"What, that I'm not stupid? Sorry, sorry," she said, waving her hands in the air. "It just struck me as really funny." 

"Maybe you should get some sleep." 

"Not allowed to. Not until we hash things out, remember? We're under orders from your ruler." 

A sullen look on his face, he muttered, "Yeah, well, I'm not real good at taking orders." v"Oooh!" she squealed. "Wait 'til I alert the media about that newsflash!" 

Michael raised his eyebrows, but didn't speak. He just sank back down on the end of the bed. 

"So do you want to hear what I think we should do?" she asked. 

"Am I gonna be able to stop you from telling me?" But the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in what might someday grow to be a smile. 

Maria ignored him. "I think we should get everything out in the open." Taking in the immediate shuttering of his expression, she moved to stand in front of him. "I don't mean that you need to tell me every last little detail of your existence," she clarified. "There are things you're obviously not willing to talk about. What I mean is you tell me why you're angry with me, and I'll tell you why I'm angry at you. You know, clear the air. And then we'll see where we are. Okay?" 

He didn't answer, and she held her breath. She was not going to beg. Not this time. He helped get them into this mess, so he could help get them out. After another moment of hesitation, he met her eyes. "Okay." 

Thank god. "Ladies first!" she sang out. Moving to sit next to him on the bed, she said, "Now don't say anything until I'm done, okay? You'll get your turn in a minute." 

She seriously doubted he'd be interrupting anyway. He wasn't one for the talking; his skills were far more non-verbal. Luckily, he nodded before her thoughts could detour onto that sidetrack. 

"I'm not angry that you tried to destroy every friendship you have any more," she assured him. "I don't like how you did it, and I don't like that you're capable of being that mean, but I can understand why it was so important to you to find out about your family." Maria could see the movement of Michael's jaw. She laid a hand on his forearm, feeling the tautness of the muscle underneath his warm skin. With a shrug, she admitted, "I guess I can even understand why you wouldn't tell me what was going on. It would have been hard to keep it from Liz and Alex." She bit her lip, then spoke the truth. "But I _would_ have kept it from them, Michael. I would have. You should be able to trust me that much by now." 

Michael frowned and looked away. 

There he went again! Releasing her grip on his arm, she said, "What I _am_ angry about is the way you keep shutting me out. I mean, did you really expect us not to come after you, Michael? And I'm furious that you won't let me help you. Maybe I don't have powers or anything, but I could have helped somehow, I know it. Even if it was just being there for you. 

"But no, you wouldn't even listen to me, you just picked me up and threw me out. You're really good at throwing me away, Michael. You always have been. And it hurts. Every single time, it hurts." 

Maria paused, taking a deep breath. He wasn't going to just sit there and not react, was he? She stared at him. Yes, he was. Didn't he feel the least bit of regret? He had feelings, much as he liked to hide them. So would it kill him to give her a hint--just one tiny hint--how he was feeling? She got to her feet, bracing herself for what was to come. "I guess that's all I have to say. Your turn." 

Michael stared down at his hands, saying nothing. 

"Come on, Michael," she prodded. "You were practically yelling before. You can't say you're not mad at me." 

"I'm not," he said quietly. 

Her frustration grew. "Then what was with all the shouting and everything? Don't clam up on me now, Michael. You _are_ mad at me, I know it." 

"No, I'm not," he repeated. "Maybe I was, a little. More than a little. But I think mostly I was...I was afraid." 

This shocked her speechless. Taciturn, closed-in Michael Guerin was actually admitting to fear? How did that happen? 

"What happened to you and your mother...No matter whose fault it was, it shouldn't have happened," he said slowly, eyes still fixed downwards. "It's not fair to you. And when you deliberately put yourself at risk--unnecessary risk--" He swallowed. "I guess I am still pissed about that." 

"Michael, I am not some china doll damsel needing to be protected and rescued," she began. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she was forced to admit, "Okay, so I did need to be rescued, and you saved me. But this isn't the seventeenth century. Women are capable of handling their own lives, you know. I can take care of myself." She smiled and tried to lighten the mood. "And on those very rare occasions when I can't, I'll ask for help. In the meanwhile, you just have to have a little faith in me." 

His eyes slid away, and when he spoke, she could hear the bitterness in his voice. "Why? You don't in me." 

"What on earth are you talking about? I have _tons_ of faith in you!" she protested. 

"You didn't tonight. You didn't believe that I could take care of things. That I _had_ to." 

Maria shook her head, not able to believe what she was hearing. "No. No, Michael!" she said. "I had faith in you. I knew you'd come through; you always do, when it's important. I just wanted to be there for you. I have never doubted that you could do anything you set your mind to. In fact, most of the time I think I have more faith in you than you do." 

"It didn't feel like that," he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. 

"I am so sorry, Michael. But I do believe in you. I love you." 

"Maybe you don't." 

She rounded on him. "Of course I do! I should know! Believe me, sometimes I think it would be easier if I didn't, but I do! I am in love with you, and there's nothing you can do to change that." 

"How do you know you are? Have you ever been in love before?" 

She looked at him, hoping he could read how serious she was. "No. I love other people. My mom, Liz, Alex...and I've had crushes. But you're the only one I've ever been in love with." 

He was silent for a moment, then whispered, "Maybe what you think is being in love isn't. Maybe it's because I forced the stupid link on you. Maybe that's what you feel." 

Her knees buckled, and she stumbled over to sit next to him on the bed. "Michael, do you love me?" She didn't look at him, almost afraid to hear the answer. 

"Yeah." 

"Why?" 

He turned to look at her, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean, why?" 

"Why do you love me? Is it because I'm linked to you?" 

"Of course not," he protested. 

"Then why can't you believe my loving you isn't because of the link?" 

"How can you act so calm about it, Maria?" he burst out. "I changed you! You're different now, and you'll never be the same. You're...you're damaged. Why the hell doesn't that bother you?" 

"First of all you did _not_ damage me. All you did was slightly alter my energy pattern, or whatever. Just a tiny little change. Besides, do you think that knowing me hasn't changed _you_ at all? That you're still exactly the same person you were before Liz got shot and we found out about you? 'Cause you're not. When you're part of someone's life, you affect each other. You can't help it!" 

"It's not the same thing." 

"Michael, it's darn well close enough! What happened didn't hurt me, Nasedo said so. _You_ didn't hurt me." 

"Then why does it feel like I did?" 

"Oh, Michael...." Reaching out, she put both arms around him. He didn't move, not even to relax into her embrace. He just sat there, staring down at his hands, until her arms dropped away. 

Maria studied his profile, so familiar. He seemed miles away. She took her time, studying the still-damp locks of shaggy hair, the warm brown eyes that could hold almost unendurable pain, the long nose, the stubborn chin.... Frowning, she noted that his cheekbone was faintly discolored. Had Bob hit him? But she suspected it wouldn't pay to ask. Instead, she moved on, letting her gaze rest on his sculpted lips, remembering how soft they could be. How his lips could make her dizzy as they lingered on her skin, how she... 

...did _not_ need to be thinking about that right now. 

"Penny," she said to break the silence. 

Michael turned to look at her. "What?" 

"Penny for your thoughts," she clarified. "What's going on in there?" 

He raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to know?" 

"I wouldn't have asked, otherwise. You can tell me anything." 

"You sure about that?" he asked. 

Maria wasn't certain whether he was serious or just teasing her. Either way, she was feeling frustrated. "Tell me already!" 

Michael sat silent long enough to earn a glare from her; then he spoke. "Actually, I was kinda thinking about how this was the second time I was alone in a motel room with you." 

"Oh," she said, feeling herself flush. Maybe her train of thought a few minutes earlier hadn't been running so far off track. She smiled as she remembered the Arabian bordello décor of the earlier motel. "And with our luck, once again our friends will burst in on us without warning." 

"You think?" he asked, turning to meet her gaze. 

And the impulse was too strong for Maria. Leaning forward, she brushed his lips with her own. He froze, and she kissed him again, still very gently. This time he responded, his arms wrapping around to clutch her. 

Encouraged, she opened her lips over his and traced his mouth with the tip of her tongue, smiling when his arms tightened further around her. Their kisses deepened and Maria began to lose herself in what she was feeling. 

"Michael," she breathed as he tasted her jawline. 

"Hmmm?" he murmured, not halting his attentions to her even for a second. 

Her hand stole up to cup his cheek. "I missed you," she stated baldly. 

There was no answer, beyond a move to her neck. She couldn't help but smile. Michael and his neck fetish. It wasn't until she'd almost forgotten what she'd said that he spoke. "I know the feeling," he said, his voice husky, and kissed her again. Her hands swept across the broad expanse of his back as they kissed, and then up under the hem of his shirt to smooth across his warm skin. She'd wanted to touch him like this, ever since he'd stepped from the steamy bathroom, his bare back temptingly near until he'd pulled on the T-shirt-- 

Wait a minute. The T-shirt that had swaddled the crystalline power spheres, that Isabel had taken from the chest of drawers in his apartment. 

"Michael?" she murmured. 

"What?" he asked between kisses. 

"You changed your shirt." 

"So?" Pulling back, Michael looked at her, a faint wrinkle appearing between his brows. "Is this one of those 'needing to have a conversation' things?" 

Laughing, she said, "Nope. Just an observation." 

"Well, you brought it. I might as well wear it." 

"Oh, if only that were always true!" Maria mock-sighed. "'Cause we could really spruce up your wardrobe." 

Shaking his head, he warned her, "Forget it, Maria. Leave my clothes alone. God knows what I'd end up looking like if _you_ dressed me." 

"At least you'd have some style. Not to mention clothes that actually fit right," she said, defending herself. 

Michael's face grew serious. "I don't need to have 'style.' That's for people who want to be noticed. I need to fade into the woodwork." 

She considered for a moment. "I guess I can see why you feel that way. You're so used to hiding." She reached up to trace the black mark incised into his cheek. "But you can't tell me that this is going to help you go unnoticed. Especially at school." 

Michael stilled. "I'll get Isabel or Max to fix it later." Pushing himself to his feet, he moved towards the door, taking care to avoid catching his reflection in the mirror that hung over the fake-oak dresser. 

Maria sighed. There he went, closing off again. Well, it had been nice while it lasted. 

"So," she began. "What now?" 

He avoided her eyes. "Sleep, I guess. Then head back to Roswell in the morning." 

"Oh. I kind of meant with us." 

"With us," he repeated. 

A quick flash of anger surged up within her. "Yes, us. Our relationship. Do we have one?" she asked point blank. 

"That's up to you, I guess." 

She stared at him, horrified. "You _guess?_ Not three minutes ago you were like surgically glued to my neck and now you can't even be bothered to have an opinion about the existence of our relationship?" 

Michael frowned. "You're the one who was so pissed off earlier. And I seem to recall that you weren't too sure you even liked me very much not so long ago. So yeah, I'd say it's up to you." 

"Well, that's just great, isn't it?" 

"Look, just because I happen to love you doesn't mean I'm gonna be able to be the perfect boyfriend you want. I already tried that, and I screwed everything up, remember?" 

Maria, stuck on the fact that he'd said he loved her, gave him a blinding smile. Unfortunately, her joy was ruptured a moment later as Michael continued, "So think about it. Really think about it, and decide what you want. Just remember that I'm not gonna suddenly change. I'm still gonna do everything I can to keep you out of danger, even if it pisses you off." 

Maria stared at him. "So my being safe is that important to you?" 

"Yeah." 

Why did he sound like he thought she was an idiot for asking? It was a valid question. One with an incredibly stupid answer. "That is the most selfish thing I've ever heard, Michael Guerin!" 

The most--"What?" 

"You want me safe, but not because it's best for me. If you really wanted that, you'd want me to be happy. But no, you just want me safe so you don't feel guilty about it! Well, don't bother anymore. You shouldn't feel guilty, because I am responsible for my own life, thank you very much. And I'll decide what's most important for me." She flung an arm out and pointed toward the door. "So you can take your selfishness and your family-sized box of guilt and leave me alone." 

"Maria, I--" 

"Don't worry about it, Michael. I'm going to _think_ about our relationship, really think about it, just like you said. And when I have come to a conclusion, if I have a few spare moments, maybe I'll let you know."  
  
  
*****  


"Well, at least one of them's still alive," commented Alex as Michael entered the other motel room. 

"Did you work things out?" asked Isabel. 

Michael blinked a few times. "More or less," he hedged, hoping they'd leave it at that. 

"Where's Maria?" Liz asked from where she sat by Max's side. 

"Getting some sleep." 

The brunette nodded. "That's actually a really good idea. It's late." Giving Max's hand a squeeze, she said, "I'll see you guys in the morning." The other two girls rose to follow her out. 

"Iz?" said Michael. "Could you hold on a minute?" 

She turned back to him. "Sure. What's up?" 

"I was hoping you or Max could get rid of this," Michael said, touching the alien mark on his cheek and trying not to remember how delicately Maria's finger had traced it. "I'd do it, but I should probably get some practice in before I start messing with my face." 

"What's this?" she teased. "Is my grubby almost-brother actually thinking about how he looks? Ah, Vanity, thy name is Michael." But in spite of her teasing, she looked surprised and pleased. Probably not because he was paying attention to his appearance--she knew him too well to delude herself--but because he'd actually forced himself to ask for their help. Stepping near him, Isabel reached up to place a gentle palm on his right cheek. "No problem. It'll just take a minute." 

They stood longer than that minute, though, and she frowned. "That's weird," she said. 

"What?" Michael asked. 

"It's not going away," she admitted. "How did it get there?" 

Michael's jaw clenched as he thought back to the scene at the DeLucas' house. "Bob. He grabbed onto my face and put it there." It had hurt like hell. 

"Maybe it's not just cosmetic," she speculated. "It looks almost like a brand. Maybe it needs to be healed, not just removed. Max," she added, raising her voice. 

Max looked up from the conversation he was having with Alex and, somewhat to Michael's surprise, Kyle. "Yeah, Izzy?" 

"Come see what you can do with this," she ordered. "I'm not having any success." 

A moment later, Michael found himself shifting uncomfortably under Max's gaze. 

"Try healing it," Isabel suggested. 

"Hold still, Michael," said Max, putting his hand up to the mark. Michael waited impatiently for something to happen. Shouldn't he feel it--a tingle or warmth, or something? Like he had when Max had healed his black eye, before he had gotten out from under Hank's thumb? Max continued doggedly on with the attempt, long after Michael began to suspect it wasn't going to work. When he finally gave up, Michael knew for sure. The failure was easy to read in his friend's eyes. 

"No dice, huh," Michael said rather than asked. Max shook his head. 

"No. I can take care of this, though," he said, reaching up to touch Michael's other cheek. This time, Michael could feel the slight prickle under his skin. With a satisfied nod, Max added, "Looks like you were sporting the beginnings of a nice bruise." 

Michael shrugged. "Got shoved into a wall." Moving towards the bathroom, he stopped in front of the large mirror over the counter. He stared at his reflection, his face taut. 

Crossing to stand behind him, Isabel peered over his shoulder. "It's not so bad." She laid one hand on his shoulder as she added, "We can probably cover it up--" 

But Michael pulled away, heading into the bathroom to grab his discarded clothing, then perched on one of the beds to pull on his socks and boots. 

"Michael--" Max began. 

"I'm fine," Michael said, interrupting him. Standing, he looked for the jacket he'd dropped on the bed earlier. Someone, probably Isabel, had hung it in the tiny closet. He quickly shrugged into it. 

"Going for a walk," he announced. 

He was prepared to have to battle through the ensuing objections and protests; he was rather surprised when, after staring at him with narrowed eyes, Isabel came close enough to give him a light peck on the cheek. The same cheek that bore Bob's symbol. 

"I'm going to get some sleep," she said. "See you all in the morning." And with that, she left the motel room. 

Michael was right on her heels, more than ready to escape the claustrophobic feeling that came not from the size of the room but from the sense that everything else was closing in on him. His hand was on the door when he heard his name. 

"Hey, Guerin." 

He turned to look at Kyle Valenti, who asked, "Want some company?" 

Michael frowned. "I don't need a babysitter," he bit out. 

"Wasn't even gonna try, sport," Valenti said. "But being as I was busy coming to your rescue today, I missed my usual workout. I could stand to stretch my legs a little." 

"It's gotta be two in the morning," Michael said, even though he didn't really know the time. He just didn't feel like having hangers-on when he was in the mood to...well, to be alone. 

But the jock wasn't giving in. "So?" he challenged. 

With a grimace, Michael capitulated. "Do what you want," he snapped, and headed out the door. He didn't know what Valenti was up to, but he'd be willing to bet it wasn't anything he wanted to be a part of. What the hell. If he had to, he could probably outdistance the athlete, who had been right about one thing earlier. Michael was fast. Even leaving aside the effect of his alien genes, he'd had plenty of practice at an early age, running from Hank whenever he could manage it. Of course, escaping from one beating had only made the next one more brutal.... 

Shaking his head, he did his best to ignore the sound of sneakered feet following after him. He didn't care what Valenti wanted; he was _not_ gonna try out for the damn basketball team.  
  
  



	36. Chapter 36

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 36**_

Weighed down by depression, Michael watched the scenery flicker past the window as the Jeep rolled smoothly down the highway. He was aware that Isabel and Max hadn't missed his mood. They probably thought he should be all happy or whatever--or at least as happy as he was capable of. After all, hadn't he saved Maria and her mother, vanquished Max's would-be murderer, and gotten control over his powers in the process? 

But his two oldest friends didn't know everything that had happened. They probably thought his current black mood was due to lack of sleep or anger and shame about the mark he bore. 

Not that all that wasn't part of it, if a small part. But there was more that they had no idea about, because he hadn't told them. 

He hadn't told them about his fight with Maria. And they wouldn't have picked up on it from her behavior; she'd acted like all was well in her world when the group had assembled this morning. Plus she'd smiled and made friendly chit-chat over lunch at the small diner where they'd stopped. And though she'd carefully maneuvered things so she rode in the convertible, away from Michael, she'd even made a point of sitting next to him as they ate. He figured that was just so she wouldn't have to look at him across the table, though. But her pretense fooled everyone. Unless she'd said something to Liz, it wasn't likely anyone else had a clue that there was something just the slightest bit off about her demeanor. And since she'd gone off on some wild, typically Maria-like rant about something or other, reducing all of the rest of them to stitches--even Tess--Michael didn't think they were gonna catch on to the fact that he and Maria weren't...well, he didn't know what they weren't. Or what they were, for that matter. That was gonna be up to her. And since she wasn't giving him any hints, he couldn't tell Max or Isabel, not even if he wanted to. 

Michael also hadn't told anyone about forcing Bob into a shape he couldn't shift out of. Hadn't told of the wave of sheer instinctual terror that had burst through the link as Bob realized just what was being done to him. 

Or the horror of Michael himself realizing that he was condemning another being to a living imprisonment, far worse than the mental prison he'd subjected himself to earlier that fall. At least a part of him had been free to wander around, even if the other part was trapped in a cell of his own making. And thanks to Maria and his friends, he'd been able to pull himself out of it. But in Bob's case, the prisoner would be powerless to do anything except _be_. 

Michael hadn't even known it was possible to shift into something other than a humanoid shape until Nasedo had told him so. On his own, Bob probably didn't have the talent to accomplish a shift like that; he had just enough ability to get by. But with a surge of energy from Michael and Nasedo's implacable guidance, Bob had taken the form--no, he'd been _forced_ into a form that was remarkably like the concrete walls and floors that surrounded them. A form that couldn't move, couldn't communicate, couldn't even end its own existence just to stop its suffering. He was trapped. And the mental torture wouldn't end until, somewhere across space, Michael's mother died and allowed her brother to finally escape into nothingness. 

And even though Michael knew what the shapeshifter had done to him, had wanted done to Max, even though he was protecting the people he cared about, it didn't change the fact that he wasn't condemning some unknown stranger. Bob was one-half of his family, family Michael hadn't even known existed just a few days ago. His link to home, however tainted that link was. And the now-trapped shapeshifter was the only family Michael would ever meet. 

Because worst of all, he hadn't told Max or Isabel that their planet, the one they were supposed to save, was off-limits. That even if they found a way to get there, they couldn't survive it, because their stupid hybrid bodies weren't made to exist there. The very changes that had allowed them to live on this adopted world had destroyed any chance of their ever going home. Their real home. 

And the dream that Michael had held on to for dear life, ever since he'd realized what he was--no, since long before he'd understood just why he felt so different from the people around him--that dream had been torn away from him, stripped from the very bones and sinews that held him together. His entire foundation was gone. 

And how could anything else--saving lives, having functioning powers, _anything_--how could any of it stand against the force of that blow? 

A honk of the Jeep's horn dragged him out of his misery long enough to realize they'd arrived back in Roswell. Max had evidently used the horn to signal a goodbye to the others, because he turned right while in front of them the convertible continued straight on. 

"We'll drop you off first, Alex, if that's okay," Max suggested. 

"No problem." 

Michael shot a quick glance over to the other side of the car. He'd almost forgotten Alex was there, he'd been so intent on his own thoughts. Strange that he should feel enough at ease with a human to completely forget his presence. He'd seen Alex's loyalty and support of his friends, but he'd never expected to be so comfortable with him. With any human, for that matter. For the first time, Michael actually considered Alex as an individual in his own right, rather than an appendage of Maria or Liz. And he rather regretted his own inability to build relationships. Because he suspected that a friendship with the other guy--a real friendship, not one based on necessity and shared secrets--might just be worthwhile. 

Not that he was likely to find out. 

Anyway, it was probably a good idea to drop Alex off. There were things he needed to tell Max and Isabel, and he didn't particularly want an audience. Yeah, the others would find out soon enough, but this was stuff that affected the aliens directly. Max and Isabel should hear first. They were in it together. 

Damn. That meant Tess should probably be there too. It affected her just as much as it did Max and Isabel. Whether or not it felt that way, she was one of them. They were all in the same boat. Michael thought about tracking her down, finding a time to tell all three of them together; then he abandoned the idea. 

The hell with it. His first loyalty was to his two closest friends. Tess would just have to wait. Because he had to tell them, and soon, before it ate away at him entirely. 

He managed to grunt a goodbye as Alex got out of the Jeep at his own house, but the guy didn't seem to take offense at his gruffness. With a grin and a small wave, Alex started up the sidewalk to his front door. 

"Why don't you come home with us, Michael? You can stay for dinner," Isabel suggested as Max swung the vehicle back onto the road. 

No way. The ideal perfection of the Evans household would only make what he had to say seem worse by contrast. If that was even possible. Michael cleared his throat. "Let's go to my place," he countered. "We uh...we need to talk." The two glanced back curiously but didn't ask any questions, and Michael couldn't bring himself to say anything else on the ride across town. 

He didn't know if it was the built-up tension of the last few days or being crammed into the Jeep's back seat for hours that caused it, but, once inside his apartment, he couldn't settle down. He let his friends sit gingerly on his lumpy couch, but stayed on his feet, pacing back and forth across the confines of the room. Not for the first time, he wished he had an ease with words. He'd read enough--in private--to have a decent vocabulary. So why was it that at times like this, when his two best friends were expectantly waiting, the words deserted him? And left him to stumble along like a complete idiot? He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. It didn't help. 

"Okay, what's going on?" Isabel finally demanded. "You're going to wear a hole in the carpet. And you don't have all that much carpet to spare." 

A million thoughts tumbled through Michael's head. How to say exactly what he needed to? There was so much...but it had to be done. He opened his mouth, ready to speak calmly, coherently. To explain things fully. Instead, what came out was simply, "We're screwed." 

Max sat straighter on the couch, suddenly alert. "What do you mean? Did it not work with Bob?" 

Michael was quick to dismiss that worry. "Yeah, it worked. I told you it did, didn't I? Bob isn't gonna bother anyone again. Ever." He forced himself to go on. "What I'm talking about is us. The reason we're here. The reason we even exist at all." 

"You're making me dizzy, Michael," Isabel complained. "Stop pacing and get to the point, okay?" 

For once he did exactly as he was asked. Stopping in his tracks, he shouted, "We can't save our home planet! Is that pointy enough for you, Iz?" The words poured, jumbled, from his mouth. "They fucked with our DNA or whatever so we could survive on Earth, and now we'll never be able to go home because of it! Our stupid hybrid bodies can't exist there. The only reason we're even alive is to save our planet, but they made that fucking impossible! Our whole existence is...is pointless!" 

And then he stood there, his former nervous agitation drained from him. Okay. It was out, all of it. They knew. He stared down at the floor and was silent. 

His friends weren't any noisier. Brother and sister sat, blank looks on their faces. Michael sighed. 

"Hey," he barked. "Did you guys even hear me?" 

It was enough to snap them out of their daze. 

"We heard," Max said slowly. "It's just...a shock, that's all." 

"I know. It sucks." 

Isabel didn't look convinced. "I don't mean to doubt you, Michael, but...how do you know?" 

"Bob told me." 

"And you believed him?" she pressed, her face serious. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but he held your girlfriend and her mother hostage; kidnapped, drugged and branded you; and tried to get you to kill one of your best friends. So why are you--the living, breathing embodiment of suspicion--so willing to accept his word?" 

"Because it makes sense!" Michael shot back hotly. "Bob is...was...a shapeshifter, even if it wasn't his main talent. You think it's just a coincidence that both of the full-blooded aliens we've met have been shapeshifters? With all the things out there they could be able to do, they had that in common?" 

"You don't know that it's unusual," Max pointed out. 

"Well, if it's such an everyday thing, how come none of us can do it?" Michael challenged. "You heal, Isabel dreamwalks, Tess plays stupid mindgames, and I hold energy. Not a shapeshifter in the bunch, right?" 

Max nodded, and Michael continued, "So pretend you're one of the idiots who got us in this mess in the first place. You've gone to the trouble of mixing our DNA with human. Why do that if you didn't have to, so we could survive?" 

"Maybe it's not about surviving the planet, but surviving the people," Isabel said thoughtfully. "Trying to keep us from being found out." 

"Then why send us? Why not send a bunch of shapeshifters?" 

"Because they're not of royal blood," Isabel shot back. 

Michael scoffed, "Hate to break it to you, Iz, but neither am I, I don't think. You and Max have that market cornered." 

"There has to be a reason the four of us were sent," Max put in. "And why tell us it's to save our planet if it's not true? But if altering us so we could survive keeps us from helping them...it does seem rather short-sighted of them." 

"See what I mean? I told you, we're screwed." 

"We don't know that for sure," Isabel said firmly. "I think we should talk to Nasedo. See what he has to say about it." 

Max nodded. "Good idea, Izzy." 

"If it's true that we can't go home, all it does is prove that there's no such thing as destiny. And Michael," she pointed out, "you were against the whole destiny thing anyway." 

"I was against the being together part. But the other part--the saving our planet part..." His had to swallow to be able to get the words out. "Nothing here ever mattered, not Hank, not going hungry half the time, not the shithole I had to live in, because this wasn't where I was supposed to be. There was something better out there. But if this is all there is...." His voice caught in his throat. "Then what did all that happen for?" 

"Oh, Michael," Isabel said, sounding stricken. For a moment, Michael thought she was going to cry. Isabel in tears was not something he wanted to see. Especially if it was over him. 

To his immense relief, she controlled it. Rising to her feet, she crossed to him, arms outstretched. But he stepped back, his jaw tightening. He shook his head and managed one more word. 

"Don't." 

"Michael, it's okay to feel," she protested. 

But Michael wasn't about to let things get any more out of hand than they already were. He wasn't emotionally stunted; he knew all about feeling. But he was so practiced at covering it up that it had grown to be second nature. And right now the carefully-learned instinct to close off was stronger than anything else. 

He was damned if he was going to let it show. Michael Guerin--except on one rare occasion in Maria's arms, during a rainstorm--did not let his emotions loose to that extent. At least not these emotions. Anger and impatience, sure, but not this. He wouldn't let himself be this weak. 

So it was with gratitude that he heard Max speak. 

"Well, I guess this means I don't have to be a king," Max mused philosophically. "So you two can quit blindly obeying my every command." 

It was enough to break the mood. Isabel blinked back any remaining threat of tears and smiled. 

"Yes, because we both did that so well," she riposted. Even Michael allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards slightly. Encouraged, she asked him, "So what next?" 

Michael hesitated, then said, "Tell Tess, I guess. Talk to Nasedo. And then...I don't know." A thought occurred to him, and his spirits lightened a little. At least this whole fiasco would do some good for someone. "We'll have to tell the others, too," he said slowly, looking at Max. Who didn't seem to get it. Okay, so he'd have to spell it out for him. "It means there's nothing coming between you and Liz any more." 

Max sat, taking this in, while his sister smiled warmly at him. "That's true," she said. 

"That's supposing she still wants--" 

But Isabel interrupted her brother. "Oh please," she scoffed. "You know very well that she does. It's only fair you should get a little happiness." 

"It would change things," Max admitted. "I'm sorry, Michael." The concern was clear in his eyes. "I know how much this all meant to you." 

Michael shrugged. He wasn't going to be able to deal with things any time soon, but he didn't need to suck the others into his depression. "I'm not the only one who suddenly has no purpose," he pointed out, trying to keep things in the lighter mood of a few moments ago. "I guess you two are just gonna have to go back to being perfect teenagers." 

Neither of them was willing to go along with it. "What are you going to do?" Isabel asked, her expression serious. 

"Get some sleep, go to school, find another job." 

"Another job?" Max queried. 

"I was on probation the last time I missed a few days," he explained with a shrug. He nodded in the direction of his answering machine. The message light was blinking. "That's probably telling me I'm fired." 

"Michael, if you need--" 

"I'll be fine, Maxwell." Michael managed to summon half a smile. "I'm a survivor, remember?" 

"I don't--" began Isabel. 

"Quit playing mother, Iz. I'm fine. I can handle this." 

"I know you can," she assured him. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to help." 

His hand snuck up to his cheek. "You want to help, come up with a way to get rid of this. Other than that, I'm cool." 

"We could always hide it. A good foundation can cover up almost anything," she suggested as she appraised the mark. 

"A what?" 

"Foundation. Make-up, Michael." 

He shook his head vehemently. What the hell was she thinking? "No way. I'd rather be a tattooed freak than a freak in make-up." 

"Okay, okay. We'll come up with something else, then," she said hastily. 

"Good. So why don't you head out and get started on that?" he suggested, herding them towards the door. "Last coupla days haven't exactly been restful. I could really stand to crash." 

Reaching out, he swung his front door open for them, only to stop in surprise. A familiar form was standing in the hallway. Ed Harding, wearing an expression Michael had seen just a few weeks ago, at Tess's house. An expression of sheer rage. 

"Where is it?" the shapeshifter demanded.  
  
  
*****  


Running the comb through her damp hair, Maria stared silently out the window. She supposed she should be pulling out her books--she had homework that she'd put off in favor of hunting for Michael--but she couldn't bring herself to concentrate. 

She'd spent the entire day pretending that nothing was wrong, that she was totally carefree; now she was just tired. Content to be by herself for once, where she didn't have to wear any kind of mask. Where she didn't have to fool anyone. 

Michael alone hadn't bought into her facade. But then he knew what had happened last night, when they'd had their...disagreement. Unless he'd told Max or Isabel about it--and she doubted he had--they were just as clueless about it as everyone else. 

And then on top of playing Miss Congeniality all day, she'd had to deal with her mother's total overprotection when she'd arrived back home. Her mother had made some of her favorite dishes for dinner, which would have been nice if she'd felt the least bit hungry; but the constant hovering was driving Maria crazy. Luckily, Mom hadn't asked that many questions, so Maria hadn't had to share any details other than the bare facts. Yes, she was all right. Yes, they'd found Michael. Yes, he was fine too. No, the alien who'd taken him wasn't going to be a problem any more. No--and here she'd had to swallow hard--they hadn't killed him. And again, she was fine. Really. 

She'd only escaped by claiming she wanted a shower and then had homework to do. Her mother couldn't argue against homework, could she? And even then, when Maria returned to her room, pajama-clad and with her hair in a towel, she'd found a plate of ginger cookies and a cup of herbal tea on her desk. Study snacks, to go along with the homework she had to do. 

Homework she was busily _not_ doing. 

She ran the comb mechanically through her hair one more time, then set it down and rested her chin on her fist. 

It had seemed like they were making such progress, she and Michael. They'd argued, but they'd certainly made up. She closed her eyes as she remembered how she'd kissed him, like she'd been afraid she would never see him again. And after all that, after everything they'd been through--even after he'd let slip that he loved her--he couldn't venture an opinion about whether or not they should be in a relationship? What kind of love was that? 

With a groan, Maria collapsed backwards onto the bed. And she didn't move except to breathe. And occasionally blink. 

She didn't even move when her cell phone rang. There wasn't anyone she wanted to talk to at that particular moment. She should have just shut it off in the first place. And she should definitely have chosen a different personalized ring. Because if that incessant, annoying excuse for a tune didn't stop right this minute-- 

"What?" she snapped into the phone. 

A beat, then Alex's startled voice. "Maria?" 

Oh. Ohhhhh. "Sorry, Alex," she said quickly. "I just...sorry." 

"You okay?" he asked with evident concern. 

"What? Oh, I'm fine," she assured him, trying to inject some cheer into her voice. "I'm just lying here avoiding my French homework." 

"Ahhh," he said knowingly. "Well, I won't keep you from your procrastination. I just wanted to check on your work schedule this week." 

She squirmed into a more comfortable position on the bed. "Every day except Wednesday, I think. Plus I've got a double shift Saturday to make up for being off all this weekend. Why?" 

"Do you remember the gig I told you about? Well, it's on, so we really need to practice. Plus we'll need to go over the set list--" 

Excitement pulled Maria into a sitting position. "Ooh, Alex, really? When is it? And where?" 

"It's for this Christmas party, so we need to add in some seasonal music--" 

Once again she interrupted. "Alex?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Do I really have to wear my Crashdown uniform?"  
  
  



	37. Chapter 37

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 37**_

"Huh?" was Michael's admittedly less-than-brilliant response. "Where is what?" 

Pushing his way into the apartment, the shapeshifter swung around to face the three of them. "The cube. The one you stole from me." 

"Hey, I've been a little busy the last couple of days, but I think I'd remember stealing from you," Michael objected. Glancing over at the Evans siblings, he caught a knowing look on Max's face and closed the door. "Okay, Maxwell, what the hell is going on?" 

"I can't believe we forgot about it," Max said, half to himself. 

Nasedo wheeled on him. "Where is it?" 

"It's safe," Max replied, uncowed. 

"What are you talking about, Max?" Isabel demanded. "Did you--" 

"Yeah," he answered. "We found a metallic cube and a couple of metal sheets, like pages from the book Tess found." 

"And how did Nasedo find out?" she continued, ignoring the shapeshifter's palpable anger. Her eyes widened, and she winced. "You didn't even bother to try and hide it, did you, Max? Michael was right--you're a lousy spy." 

Good to be right about something for a change, Michael thought. Now if he just knew what they were talking about... 

"Would somebody--" he began. 

Max hadn't even heard him. He was too busy trying to pacify his sister. Patiently, he explained, "We were a little busy, Iz. We'd just found it when Alex called about Maria. And you didn't exactly show up as arranged." 

"Excuse me for getting knocked unconscious," she snarked. 

Nasedo was not to be diverted. "_Where is it?_" he shouted. 

"It's safe," Max said again. The shapeshifter didn't look comforted. 

"I want it back. Now." 

Enough was enough. This was his place, and he wasn't going to be left out of things again. "What the hell are you talking about?" Michael demanded. 

"It has nothing to do with you," Nasedo snapped at him. 

"Uh-huh. Thought you were over thinking I wasn't part of things," Michael said stubbornly. 

"Actually, you weren't," Isabel chimed in. 

"Yeah? Wanna clue me in on why?" 

She shot him a pointed look. "Because you were avoiding us, remember?" 

Oh. Yeah. But if he was understanding right, they'd found some more alien stuff. And if that was true, he wanted to see it. "Whatever. Look, Max, just go get the stuff from wherever you've got it stashed, and we'll take a look." 

"You won't do anything of the kind. You'll turn it back over to me," Nasedo insisted. 

"Why? What do the pages say? And what's in the cube?" Max countered. 

"That is none of your business." 

"It is if you want them back," Max said staunchly. 

Nasedo's hackles--if he had them--rose. "I suggest you bring it to me before I forget I am your protector," he threatened. 

Whoa. Michael immediately put himself between the two. His hand shot out in warning, but he didn't release his powers. 

"You can't stop me, Michael," Nasedo said bluntly. "I've thrown you across the room before. I can do it again." 

But after the events of the last few days, Michael wasn't the least bit intimidated. "Yeah? Well, I've learned a lot since then, remember?" 

The two faced off, neither in the mood for conciliation. 

"Oh, cut it out, the both of you!" Isabel snapped. "Max, go get what you found. The three of us will wait here." Her brother looked at her, and some unspoken communication passed between them. 

Max gave a decisive nod. "Right. I'll be back as soon as I can," he said. With a last warning look at his second, he brushed past Nasedo and left the apartment. 

Once Max headed out, the shapeshifter seemed to calm down; his stance softened. Michael let his hand drop and relaxed in turn. "You sure it's not Isabel who's supposed to be our leader?" he asked. "'Cause she's pretty good at that." 

Nasedo's face was serious as he replied, "No. Max is king." 

Michael rolled his eyes and muttered to Isabel, "Guess sense of humor comes from the human side." 

She ignored him, directing her attention to the older alien. "Have a seat," she suggested, gesturing to the couch. "It's not exactly comfortable, but it's about all that's on offer. Michael," she added sweetly, "why don't you get us something to drink?" 

Michael couldn't help but glower at her. Maybe his lame joke hadn't been so far off after all, the way she was ordering him around. Who gave her permission to play hostess? He hadn't, that was for sure. Crossing his arms over his chest, he remained rooted to the floor where he was. 

"Honestly," she commented as she sat on the couch next to Nasedo, "Michael has no manners." Her demeanor was casual, but Michael didn't miss her careful positioning. Not so far from the shapeshifter to imply fear, but not real close, either. His eyes narrowed as she gave Nasedo a wide, brilliant smile. He knew that smile. It was her patented 'I'm just too perfect to be doing anything wrong' bullshit smile. And if he had a million dollars, he'd bet it all that she was gonna use it to pump the shapeshifter for information. Okay. Maybe he wasn't so pissed after all. Grabbing a stool from near the counter, he straddled it and rested his arms on the back, ready to watch the show. 

"I know it's been a stressful few days for all of us," Isabel was saying. "But if you wouldn't mind answering a few questions about what happened, I know it would make me feel a lot safer." 

Nasedo looked at her, not seeming at all affected by her manner. Huh. She could usually disarm her victim within a few moments with that smile. Against his will, Michael was kind of impressed. 

"I know you and Michael took care of Bob," Isabel said smoothly, ignoring the shapeshifter's lack of agreement. "So is that it, or can we expect other ali--others from our planet to come after us?" 

"It isn't impossible that there should be others, but it's not terribly likely. The technology used to replicate the Royal Four was destroyed afterwards, and shapeshifting ability is rare," Nasedo answered coolly. 

Ha. He'd known it. Michael shot a glance at Isabel, but she didn't acknowledge it. "So they'd have to be shapeshifters to come to Earth?" she asked, her attention still on Nasedo. 

Michael shifted impatiently, running a hand through his hair. They'd already been over this, before Nasedo showed up. And Nasedo confirmed it, almost carelessly. "Yes. They would have to be to adapt to the new environment." 

Annoyed by the other alien's seeming lack of concern, Michael snapped. "Then how the hell are we supposed to go back and save our planet? Or don't you think it's important for us to be able to, I don't know, breathe or whatever when we get there? You wanna explain that?" 

"I can't," the shapeshifter said point-blank. 

"What?" 

"I don't know how you're supposed to save them," Nasedo said. "I'm hardly omniscient." 

Michael just stared at him, almost unable to take this in. He'd known they were screwed, but to find out Nasedo didn't have any answers either...somehow being right wasn't the least bit gratifying. 

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand," Isabel said carefully. "You must have had some sort of plan when you...recreated us." 

"You have to realize that there wasn't much time to make plans. You and your brother were dead, and war was breaking out all over the city. If the replicating device hadn't already been built, we never would have been able to get you off the planet in the first place." 

"But you had the machine--" 

"Device. The technology was more organic than mechanical," Nasedo corrected. 

"Device, then. You had it already, so you must have had _some_ sort of plan," Isabel said. 

Nasedo shook his head. "The technology was experimental. It had never been fully tested, not on sentient beings. It wasn't intended for that when it was created; using it was somewhat of a last-ditch effort." 

"So we were just guinea pigs?" Michael burst out. 

"You were our final hope," the other alien answered gravely. 

"And you came because you were a shapeshifter," Isabel said, still trying to get to the bottom of his tale. "Were you one of the scientists?" 

"No. I was sent to protect you." 

"Well, you did a hell of a job over the last ten years," Michael said rather bitterly. "Thanks." 

"I've kept the FBI off your back," Nasedo pointed out. "Plus I took care of the man you lived with." 

Michael's eyes shot over to Nasedo. "What?" he bit out. 

"He was a threat to you." 

Michael began to shake his head, feeling the sudden tension in his gut. "No. Hank left town, Valenti said so. After I moved out, he got a job somewhere...." His voice trailed off as he read the truth on Nasedo's face. 

"You got rid of him," he said hoarsely. "He didn't move away. You...you killed him." 

"Yes." The response was unapologetic. 

Michael closed his eyes, then rose and stumbled over to the window. Pushing back the tie-dyed cloth that covered it, he stared blindly outside. 

"Michael?" Isabel's voice. 

He shook his head, but didn't turn around. "My life with him sucked. I hated it. I hated him." He managed that much before his throat closed up. It was true, too. Hank had been a real bastard who'd seen Michael as easy money, putting up with him solely for the support check he got as a foster parent. Michael couldn't even count the number of times the man had pissed away most of that check at the local bars. Or the number of times Hank had come home drunk to deal out abuse--strictly verbal if Michael was lucky--on the hapless boy. Michael had hated him. Still did. 

So why did he care that the man was dead, and at the hands of an alien? And because of him? 

He didn't. Hank could rot in hell for all Michael cared. Hell, he probably already was. Michael didn't give a damn. He wouldn't let himself. 

Slowly he turned his head away from the early evening light. Isabel was looking at him, worry clear on her face. He managed to relax his own expression; only then did he realize how tightly his hand was clenched around the window covering. Tight enough to leave it crumpled even after he took his hand away. So much for not caring, huh? 

"So...so we can't go back to our planet to save it," Michael fumbled, ignoring the revelations of the past few minutes and doggedly getting back to the earlier point. 

Nasedo, who'd also been watching him, spoke. "No. You can't." 

"Told you," Michael said softly to Isabel, but there was none of his hoped-for smugness in his tone. Only despair. 

Isabel was kind enough to keep things moving. "I don't understand why you even bothered," she admitted. "Why waste time on an experimental procedure to recreate us if we weren't going to be able to help?" 

"Because Max is the only one who can. If he does not succeed, no one will," Nasedo said evenly. 

Michael raised a sarcastic eyebrow. Poor screwed Max. Talk about pressure. 

"But how do you _know_ that?" Isabel pressed. 

"It is augured by fate. It is his destiny." 

Destiny again. Great. "We don't like that word around here," Michael growled. "You can take your destiny and shove it up--" 

"Michael!" Isabel exclaimed, cutting him off. She turned back to Nasedo for further explanation. "How do you know it's his destiny? Do you have some intergalactic Magic 8 ball?" she asked, a hint of humor in her voice. 

The pop reference didn't make any impact on Nasedo. "It was prophesied, many generations ago. A king would be reborn to save his people, and with him his pod-sib, the consort, and the brother." 

"That's a load of crap," Michael shot out. 

"Your disbelief doesn't make it untrue," the imperturbable alien replied. "It has been proven, by Max's very existence." 

Michael wasn't impressed. "You've got to have had lots of kings. So if this so-called prophecy was even true, it could mean any of them. Why Max?" 

The shapeshifter smiled wryly. "People aren't reborn every day, you know. But we knew long before then. All kings have pod-sibs and consorts, but only once have we seen the brother." 

"The brother?" Isabel repeated. "We're always born in pairs, so half the population qualifies as brothers." 

Nasedo shook his head. "We don't use that term. It doesn't adequately describe the close mental connection between pod-sibs." 

"So who or what is this 'brother' then?" 

Nasedo's face was solemn, and he hesitated. "It's a long story." 

"We're not going anywhere," Michael bit out. "And neither are you, if you want your stuff back." 

With a sigh, the shapeshifter began.  
  
  
*****  


"The story begins with a young girl of our people, much loved by all that knew her. She was a happy creature, taking delight in the world around her. She was especially close to her pod-sib, perhaps even more so than most sibling pairs. And this closeness would prove to be both a blessing and a curse. 

"Her family were honest, goodhearted people, living in a pod enclave in a city three hours' journey from the capital. The parents were both teachers, choosing to devote themselves to the vision of improving life for all by educating the young. The boy was a dreamer, open-hearted, full of wild imagination, frequently getting into such trouble as young podlings do. And the girl--as I said, the girl was much loved by all around her. And in return, she was sweet, loving and loyal. 

"By the time the pod-sibs began what you would call their adolescence, they had tapped into and began to develop their major powers. The boy--the stronger of the two--was particularly good at creating and amplifying mental links, both with and between others. The girl had a gift for manipulating light and other forms of energy. She frequently would entertain the younger podlings with displays of lights like miniature fireworks. The other children were fiercely devoted to her. And no one loved her more than her pod-sib. 

"And then one day the unthinkable happened. The planet, weighed down by years of careless keeping, began to shift upon itself. And in the enclave where the pod-sibs lived, the ground shook under their feet. 

"The family was at the education center when the building around them began to collapse. The father was killed almost instantly. The boy, who had earlier escaped the confines of the schoolroom and was reading in the outdoor garden, was able to reach his sib through the mental link they shared. 

"She and their mother were pinned beneath some debris in what had been a classroom. The boy managed somehow to scramble close, but couldn't reach her except with his mind. He could hear the cries of others who had been trapped. The ground began to shake again, and the boy knew that their lives hung in the balance. Desperately he cast around for something to save them. And from somewhere inside the depths of his imagination, an idea came. His pod-sib's talent was to manipulate all kinds of energy, though she generally stuck to light-form. His own gift was a facility for linking; if he could link with her to provide some of his own strength, perhaps she could form an energy field stable enough to keep the building in place until rescue came. Stretching a mental hand out to his pod-sib, he began the attempt. 

"And it worked. Slowly the girl was able to lift away the debris that trapped her and her mother. With it held safely in place, she reached out to encompass more and more of the structure. 

"But what the boy did not know was just how badly his pod-sib had been hurt in the first shuddering of beams, nor that calling all her own reserves to support the effort was draining her of her own life force. The longer the energy field was in place, the more it required of its maker. Faster than she could pull strength from her pod-sib, hers faded away. The boy, feeling his link with her begin to slip as she lapsed towards unconsciousness, reached out to strengthen their connection. But instead of latching on to her, the link intersected directly with the energy flow. And that flow, immediately attracted to a stronger source, veered towards him. At the very moment his pod-sib died, the resulting backlash of power jolted to and through and around him, blasting open pathways in his mind and leaving him with a new gift but no sibling. The energy running through him staved off his own death. 

"He managed to keep the building from collapsing while 147 people were rescued. Even afterward, he could not stop the wild energy flow. He had to be drugged before his grieving, shocked mind would rest long enough to allow the empty building to fall in upon itself. 

"When all was over, nine were dead. Two were the boy's father and pod-sib; another...another was his father's sib, miles away but linked in death. With the girl gone and an unimaginable hole where once their mental link existed, the boy could no longer in truth be called pod-sib. And, although from that day on he had the ability to manipulate almost unheard-of amounts of energy, he never dreamed again."  
  
  
*****  


There was silence in the room after Nasedo stopped speaking. Michael hadn't moved; he could feel the nausea as it rose up within him. 

"And the boy...he is the 'brother'?" Isabel said hesitantly, her voice hushed. 

"Yes." 

"He survived, even though his sister died? And she passed her talent to him?" 

"Yes." 

She pressed her lips together tightly, taking it in. Finally, she marveled, "They saved all those people." 

"He killed her." Michael was almost surprised by the harshness in his own voice. 

Isabel swung around to face him. "He didn't kill her, Michael. The building collapsed in an earthquake." 

Didn't she get it? "No. If he hadn't linked with her, drained all her energy, she might have survived," Michael argued. 

"And she _and_ everyone else might have died!" she protested. "It wasn't his fault, any more than it was hers." 

But Michael would not be swayed. "He killed--" he began, then turned to look fiercely into Nasedo's eyes. "I killed her." He heard Isabel's gasp, but didn't look in her direction. 

The shapeshifter nodded. 

Michael spoke again, dragging the words out. "I thought...I thought she died when I did, when I went after Max's assassins. But...but that didn't happen." He closed his eyes for a brief moment. He'd known it, sometime not too far into the tale, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. Over the last few weeks--it seemed so much longer--he'd struggled with the knowledge that he'd killed his sister, but had finally come to some sort of peace with the idea. He'd only been able to do so when he thought she'd died because he had, that their link had caused her death. It hadn't been him. That had made it more bearable somehow. But now, to find out it had been his fault after all.... 

Nasedo was speaking, answering his unspoken question. "No. That didn't happen." 

And suddenly raw unaccustomed laughter began to well up somewhere inside Michael's chest. There was no humor in it, and it hurt, but he wasn't able to stop it. 

"Michael?" said a shocked Isabel. 

He shook his head and gasped out, "No, it's...I just...." Regaining a little control, he managed, "Anybody got anything else to spring on me? You know, any other fun little surprises? 'Cause, to be honest, I don't think I can take much more." Moving on shaky legs, he crossed the small room and sat at the counter, his back to them. He was motionless for a moment; then he let his head sink down onto his arms, too weary to do anything but feel.  
  
  



	38. Chapter 38

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 38**_

When Max returned to Michael's apartment some time later, he found his second sitting at the counter with his head down on folded arms. Michael didn't so much as look up at the sound of his arrival. 

"What's going on?" Max asked his sister, who'd opened the door for him. He gave a nod in Michael's direction. 

"I'll tell you about it later," she answered, her voice hushed. 

Nasedo rose from his seat on the couch, his eyes shooting towards the blue backpack Max carried slung over one shoulder. "Do you have it?" he demanded. 

"Yes," Max answered, making no move to hand it over. "But you're not getting it back before I know what it is." 

"It's not your business," the shapeshifter shot back. 

From over by the counter came a muffled voice. "Just tell him so I don't have to come over there and make you," Michael said, not raising his head. "'Cause I'm not in the mood." 

A look of relief flashed over Isabel's face, confusing Max even further. Had Michael really retreated so far into himself that Isabel would take this half-hearted threat as a good sign? It must have reassured her, because her attention shifted back to Max and the backpack he held. 

"Can I see?" 

Max hesitated, then addressed Nasedo. "Do you swear it has nothing to do with us?" 

"Yes." The answer was immediate...maybe too immediate. Was Nasedo too ready to reassure him? Better to be absolutely clear about things. "Or with Michael?" Max pressed, needing to be doubly sure. 

This time there was a pause; then the shapeshifter answered, "Only indirectly." 

Max stood, trying to decide if that was good enough. He had the feeling Nasedo was telling the truth, but he also wasn't sure what had happened in his absence that had Michael so despondent. 

"I believe him, Max," said Isabel, cutting through his indecision. 

His sister usually had good instincts about things. Max hoped this wasn't an exception. He glanced at her, then unzipped the backpack's main compartment. Reaching in, he carefully pulled out the focus of Nasedo's concern. 

The cube sat balanced on his palm, a dull metallic gray in the glare of the overhead light. Nasedo reached out for it, but Isabel got there first, taking it gently into her manicured hands. 

"It's not as heavy as it looks," she commented. "What does it do?" 

Nasedo didn't take his eyes from it. "It doesn't do anything." 

Reaching back into the backpack for the sheets of metal they'd found with the cube, Max told Isabel, "Liz said she thinks there's something inside it." 

She immediately began turning the cube over, looking for a catch or opening. She didn't find one. 

Nasedo's voice cut her searching short. "Please." 

Surprised, Max looked over at him, shocked to see an unaccustomed look of entreaty on his features. Without hesitation, Isabel stepped towards him and held the cube out. Max didn't protest. 

Nasedo's fingers tightened around it as he took it from her. 

"What is it?" she asked softly. 

Max had never seen the shapeshifter look less alien as he answered, "All that remains of my lifemate."  
  
  
*****  


Michael slunk sullenly into English class just before the bell rang the next morning. Hunched down in his seat, his jacket collar pulled up to partially cover his face, he did his very best to look invisible. 

He really, really didn't want to be there. 

But at least school wasn't likely to dump anything new on him or turn his world inside out, not like everything else had lately. Strange to see school as a haven, but that's what it felt like: something safe and consistent. It might bore him into a stupor, but it wasn't likely to drive him crazy. 

And speaking of things that could drive him crazy.... 

He sneaked a cautious glance over towards Maria's desk. She was looking straight ahead, seemingly absorbed by Mrs. Gideon's lecture. Or maybe she was just ignoring him; Michael wasn't sure which. 

He wondered if she knew about last night, what Nasedo had told them. He was sure Isabel told Max about it, once they'd all cleared out and left Michael to himself. Max might've told Liz. And if Liz knew, it was a pretty sure bet that Maria did, too. 

And if Maria knew about it, maybe she wouldn't want anything to do with him. Maybe it would deal a fatal blow to any chance of their relationship once and for all. Maybe she-- 

Michael frowned. He was being stupid. For some reason she hadn't felt any differently about him after Pierce, so why would the fact that he'd caused his own sister's death affect her? Of course, it was one thing to kill an enemy in self-defense. Being responsible for killing your own flesh and blood was another story. 

Forget Maria; he was going to drive _himself_ crazy if he didn't watch out. 

Not wanting to think about his sister, or Maria, for that matter, Michael commanded himself to shut up. Forcing his attention towards Mrs. Gideon, he did his best to pay attention to the discussion she was leading, then relaxed as her eyes slid over him without any reaction. Good. Doubly good; not only did the mark on his cheek not catch her attention, but she wasn't likely to call on him. Also a good thing, since he wasn't sure what they were talking about. 

He managed to catch on as the discussion continued, but was relieved when at last the bell rang to herald the end of English class. Thank god. He'd made it through one period, now just the rest of the interminable day to go.... 

"Michael?" Damn. So much for making a clean escape. Schooling his expression, he turned to face Mrs. Gideon, who merely held out a sheet of paper. 

"Your assignment from Friday," she said. "Since you were out sick, you can turn it in tomorrow." 

Without a word, Michael took the paper and turned away, automatically folding it up and sticking it in his jacket pocket. The delay hadn't taken long, only a few seconds, but it was long enough for Maria to have gathered her things and headed towards the door herself. 

Maria, who he'd only seen in profile during class. 

Maria, who was stepping through the doorway and turning right. Maria, on whose cheek he could see, quite clearly, a disturbingly familiar pattern tattooed in black.  
  
  
*****  


Shock kept him in place for a few vital moments. Had he really seen Bob's brand on her cheek? Had his over-stressed mind broken enough to give him visual hallucinations? Or worse--he sucked in a breath as the idea hit him--he'd inadvertently altered Maria back at the Crash Festival. He'd changed her energy signature, or whatever, and now they were linked. So had he somehow done this to her? 

Springing into movement, he burst from the room into the crowded hallway and looked frantically around. Her golden head was nowhere to be seen in the passing throng, and Michael cursed. If only their link worked both ways, and he could sense her the way she could him.... 

He wasn't even sure what her next class was. He'd never been all that interested in his own schedule, much less anyone else's. Sure, he knew where she'd be first and last periods; they shared those classes and he could always count on the pain or pleasure of seeing her, depending on how their relationship was going. Plus he had a pretty good idea where she'd be for lunch. But other than that, he was lost. 

The warning bell rang, and he hesitated, not sure what to do. Finally, reluctantly, he decided to head to his next class. He'd look for her between classes and pull her into the eraser room or something if he saw her; otherwise he'd have to wait till lunch time. But once he found her, nothing was going to keep him from figuring out how to get the goddamn alien mark off her face.  
  
  
*****  


By the time he got to fourth period, Michael was totally spooked. Not to mention convinced he was, indeed, going crazy. Because the mark that marred his own cheek was suddenly appearing everywhere--or maybe that should be on everyone. 

It had started with just a couple of guys in the hallway between first and second periods, then a girl in his Earth Science class. From that point on, in each class, in every hallway, more and more people bore the mark--or a rough facsimile--on their cheeks. A wide variety of people. He'd seen jocks, members of the school's most exclusive cliques, members of the marching band--all wearing the same mark. He'd even passed by Mark Blumenthal, drama king, and seen it. And none of them seemed to notice, or care. It was like some sort of epidemic plague, invisible to everyone but him. 

The final straw had been Mr. Sutter--West Roswell High's unbending Vice Principal with an alien brand on his face. It was then Michael was positive he'd lost his mind. The one thing he was sure of was that he'd better find Max, and fast.  
  
  
*****  


"So you were basically carting Nasedo's dead wife around in Kyle's trunk?" exclaimed Maria, wrinkling her nose in distaste. 

Max nodded. "Evidently cremation is a pretty standard practice on our planet." 

Sitting next to him, Liz folded her empty sandwich bag into precise fourths. "It's really rather romantic, in a tragic sort of way. He's carried her with him all these years." 

Maria protested vehemently. "It's _Nasedo_, Liz. That's not romantic, that's just...eww." Glancing down at the lunch in front of her, she pushed it away. Ugh. There went her appetite. 

"Gotta agree with Maria," Alex said through a mouthful of sandwich. Hmmm. Apparently _his_ appetite hadn't been affected, Maria thought sourly. 

"So you gave the ashes back," Liz said, ignoring the two of them. "What about the sheets of metal? Were they pages from the book?" 

"Nasedo wouldn't tell us what they were," Isabel reported. "He said once we were ready, we would know." 

"Well, _that's_ helpful," Maria groused. 

"So what are you going to do?" asked Alex. "Now that you know you can't go home." 

"I don't know," Max answered with a sigh. "I think we're still trying to deal with it all. Michael didn't take it too well." 

"Well, knowing he'll never go home and then hearing about his sister on top of it...I think it kind of did him in," Isabel reflected. 

Pressing her lips tightly together, Maria looked down at the table. She didn't want to feel badly for Michael. She was still too upset with the big jerk, and she was determined to keep that emotion in place. She wouldn't let the thought of what Michael had been going through, how it must have bruised him, interfere with her righteous indignation. 

She didn't _wish_ it on him, of course; she hated the fact that he was hurting and probably wasn't sharing that pain with anyone. But this time she couldn't let that affect her. She wouldn't let it. 

Giving a decisive nod, she looked up to find herself the center of attention. "What?" 

Alex swallowed a mouthful of root beer. "We just wondered how he was." 

"Why?" Maria said defensively. "I don't keep track of him." 

Liz gave her an odd look. "You have English with him first period," she pointed out. 

Oh, right. She did. "He was the same as always in English. You know Michael and school--even when he's there he's not always there, you know?" She didn't miss Liz's quick glance, and deftly changed the subject. "So Nasedo's going back to D.C.?" 

"Yes, pretty soon," Max said, relaxing. Maria suspected he was glad to be able to be sure about something for once. "He can't be away from the Special Unit much longer." 

Maria nodded, then stilled as a familiar feeling washed over her. The innocuous comment Liz was about to make never got spoken; it was pushed into oblivion by the arrival of a rather distressed-looking teenager. Michael scanned the group, and his jaw tightened. 

"Okay, what the hell is going on?"  
  
  
*****  


Michael ignored the chair Max pushed in his direction and stared with hard eyes around him. All five of them bore the same mark on their cheek--a convoluted squiggle that his eyes recognized as alien. A mark that matched his. But none of them looked the least bit concerned about it--why? Couldn't they see it? Didn't they know how dangerous it was? If they-- 

Alex interrupted Michael's thought stream. "So how do you like our Spirit Week effort?" he asked, his eyes dancing. 

Pulled out of alarm and into confusion, Michael shot out, "Your what?" 

"You know, Spirit Week, where the whole school dresses up weird and stuff to support our glorious or not-so-glorious athletic teams?" 

What was he talking about? "Football's over and basketball games don't start until after Christmas break." 

Isabel's eyes widened, but she kept a straight face. "Fancy you knowing that, Michael." 

"I'm not stupid," he snapped. 

Liz spoke, her voice calm. "Sit down, Michael. It's all right. We just thought we'd come up with a non-Czechoslovakian reason for the mark on your cheek, that's all." 

"We were all going to wear it, but thought the school might think it was some kind of gang symbol or something," Maria put in, although Michael noticed she didn't really look at him. 

Michael sank into the chair, bemused, as Alex continued the explanation. "So Kyle and I came up with the whole Spirit Week thing, supposedly to try and gear the basketball team up for their season. Kyle's been complaining about how bad they are this year, anyway. So he called Coach Allen who called the principal and got permission. Tomorrow's blue and gold day, Wednesday is pajama day, Thursday you dress up as your favorite movie character, and Friday--this is my favorite--Friday the basketball team and the cheerleaders have to dress like each other," Alex chortled. 

Isabel rolled her eyes. "Guess whose idea that one was? Not Kyle's." 

The grin didn't leave Alex's face as he protested, "I'm just trying to help out a friend here. You know, make sure our little subterfuge works, that's all. Watching the team get abjectly humiliated is just a bonus. Anyway, people who don't want to do all that can paint the mark on their faces. It'll be around all week, Michael, so you're going to blend in just fine." 

"And then we'll have all Christmas vacation to work on getting rid of yours," Isabel put in. 

"Oh." Michael sat there, not sure of what to say. Such an elaborate scheme, all to make him feel a little less self-conscious. He supposed he should feel grateful or something, but truthfully, he just felt weird. 

By now, he was getting used to being bailed out of all the big alien-based emergencies that arose. Something came up, and they all pulled together. But this was different. This was people doing something, not to help him out of a jam, but solely to try and make him feel better about himself. Unasked--even after all the shit he'd put them through lately--they'd shown their friendship. And he wasn't used to it, didn't know how to acknowledge its importance. Uncomfortably, he said, "What if someone recognizes the brand?" 

"They all think it's some kind of New Age prosperity symbol or something," Alex said, dismissing this worry with a casual wave of his hand. 

"It's fine, Michael. The only people likely to recognize it for what it is are people who knew Bob. And that's limited to us and Nasedo," Max put in. 

Michael shook his head. "It's just...I don't know." 

To his relief, Liz kindly changed the subject. "So Alex, tell us about the upcoming Whits performance." 

Maria brightened as the bass player began to talk. "It's a Christmas party McGill & Chavez Insurance is giving for their clients. Chris's mom works there, and she got us the gig...." 

And sitting there, helping himself to a handful of Max's potato chips, Michael allowed himself to relax a little. Relax and enjoy feeling like maybe, with these five people, he really belonged.  
  
  



	39. Chapter 39

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 39**_

Light was fading from the sky as Michael reached his destination. This time he didn't pay any attention to the alien-themed crap in the windows; instead he peered in to make sure the shop was empty of customers before heading inside. 

Mrs. DeLuca was behind the cash register and glanced up, a smile on her face, as the door opened. Her eyes widened as she took in his presence, and the smile faded away, but her voice was calm as she spoke. "Hello, Michael." 

"Hey, Mrs. DeLuca," Michael managed, then glanced away, suddenly regretting the stupid impulse that brought him there. But he owed her for his revoked suspension, not to mention for his culpability in the whole Bob situation. He wanted out from under these obligations, and this was as good a start as any...if he could only bring himself to do it. 

Her eyebrows rose at his continued silence. "So what can I do for you?" 

"I don't know. I just thought you...you might have some questions or something. You know, now that you know," he fumbled. 

"Oh," she said. "I was just about to close up anyway." Moving from behind the counter, she locked the front door and flipped the sign over to 'Closed'. Michael noticed absently that even the sign had cartoon aliens on it. "All right, Michael. I do have a question." 

He nodded, mentally rehearsing the possible answers. There were a bunch of them, depending on what aspect of his alien status she would touch on first. It shouldn't be _too_ hard, right? He'd already admitted to her what he was; that was the big thing. He just hoped he could explain things right. 

So he was more than taken aback when, instead of saying anything about aliens, she asked something quite different. 

"Did you sleep with my daughter?" 

Michael's mouth fell open. "Wh...what?" 

Mrs. DeLuca did not look amused. "I thought the question was quite clear. I asked if you had sex with Maria," she said bluntly. 

"What has that got to do with being an alien?" he blurted. 

"Nothing. But that's my question. When that other alien was here, you said you'd only told Maria you loved her so you could get laid, I believe you put it." 

What the hell was going on? This was not happening. He was not hearing Maria's _mother_ ask this stuff. He had to be hallucinating, because this was just wrong. 

"So what I want to know is, was that true?" 

Goddammit. He wasn't hallucinating. "No." 

"No, you didn't lie about loving her, or no, you didn't sleep with her?" 

"Neither! I didn't--we didn't--" he said, flustered. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. She studied him for a minute, then nodded once. 

"Okay." 

His hands clenched, he snapped, "Why didn't you just ask Maria?" 

"I did. But I wanted to know what you had to say. I know it may seem a little hypocritical, considering I have a seventeen-year-old daughter, but I don't want her having sex. She's too young. So are you, for that matter, but since I'm not your mother, I'm not going to press that issue." 

Embarrassment grew into anger. Since when was his sex life any of her business anyway? Since never. "I didn't come here for this," he spat out. "I only came because I thought you might have questions about the alien thing." 

"No, not really. Max and Tess told me about everything I need to know, complete with demonstrations." 

Abruptly all of Michael's irritation flooded away, leaving him frozen. She knew about Max and Tess? Oh god. 

If she knew about Max and Tess, she probably knew about Isabel, too. For a moment, everything around him faded away, grew distant, like looking in the wrong end of a telescope. Then eleven years of well-deserved fear and paranoia rose up to overwhelm him. Bad enough when it was just him, but all of them...oh god. He had to get out of there. 

_They_ had to get out of there. 

"Twenty-four hours," he gasped out. "Give us twenty-four hours to get out of Roswell. We'll leave, I promise, just--" 

"Michael." Mrs. DeLuca's voice cut through his inarticulate babbling but not through his panic. A moment later a hand reached out to grasp his chin, and she forced him to look her directly in the eye. "_Michael_," she repeated slowly, "It's all right." 

He heard her, but in his distress the words didn't really make sense. He twitched backwards, pulling away from her like an unbroken colt, before her meaning got through. 

"Michael!" His gaze shot to her face. She looked deadly serious. "I am not turning you in. I won't tell anyone about you...any of you. I promise." 

Michael wasn't used to people keeping promises; he'd learned that lesson early on. But as he stood there, his heart still racing, he realized he wanted to believe this one. He didn't know if he could, but he wanted to. Finally he gave a nod. He would at least try. 

"So, I'm guessing trust isn't really your strong suit," Mrs. DeLuca commented. 

Talk about the understatement of the year. "No...not really." 

"I think I can understand why." She paused, then added, "But you trust Maria." 

"Yeah." 

"And she trusts you." 

_That_ he wasn't so sure about, not really. Unless Maria trusted him to hurt her; he was a little too capable of doing that. But he wasn't about to argue the point with her mother. 

"If you don't have any more questions, I should go." 

"That other alien--your father--" Mrs. DeLuca began. 

"He's not my father." 

"He lied?" 

Michael nodded. 

"I think I'm glad, for your sake." She paused. "Did he lie about other things, too?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"He said you killed someone." 

Shit. "Yeah. I did." 

She looked at him expectantly, but he didn't offer any further explanation. He was pretty sure Bob hadn't even been talking about Pierce; the shapeshifter had no way of knowing about that when he said it. But he'd known Michael in his former life; he had to know about his sister, and anyone Michael might have killed in battle or something. The title 'second-in-command' made that quite possible, though Michael had no certain knowledge of it. Not having been reborn, Bob could remember what Michael didn't. 

"That's it? You killed someone, and no explanation?" 

Michael shrugged, trying not to let the question phase him. "What's the point? All the explanations in the world aren't going to change the fact that he's dead." 

"What happened, Michael?" 

God, didn't she ever give up? She was almost worse than Maria. Fine. If she wanted to know that badly, he'd tell her. 

"His name was Agent Pierce. He was head of the FBI Special Unit. He captured Max and tortured him, and he was going to kill Sheriff Valenti. I stopped him." 

In the ensuing silence, Michael didn't look at her. He didn't particularly want to see the expression on her face. 

Finally she spoke. "I see." 

Was that all she had to say? Didn't she see what it meant? Why didn't she say it? "Go ahead, tell me to stay away from Maria. It's nothing I haven't told myself a million times." 

"Michael, I'm not going to pretend that this isn't serious. It is. But I'm not going to tell you to stay away, either." 

"You'd let Maria be with a killer?" 

"I think I'd let Maria be with the guy who put himself between her and a madman." 

"But he wouldn't have been there in the first place except for me." 

"That may be true, and I don't want anything like that to ever happen to her again. But I'm not naive, Michael. I find out my daughter has been running around, hiding a whole part of her life from me. I understand why she kept it a secret. But if I tell her to stay away from you, do you honestly expect me to believe she would?" 

"She might." He was a little scared to find out. 

"I don't want her to have to choose between us. You're both very young, Michael, no matter how old you might feel, and I honestly believe she cares about you. It would be very easy for Maria to let her feelings overwhelm her, push her into making decisions she'd regret later. I'm not going to let that happen. 

"So here's the deal. You promise me that you will do your best to see that she is safe, just like you did Thursday, and I won't stand in the way of her seeing you." 

Not much of a deal, really. He'd be trying to ensure her safety anyway, and he wasn't sure Maria _wanted_ to see him any more. But if it was what Mrs. DeLuca wanted, he'd comply. He owed her. 

"Okay." 

Mrs. DeLuca put out a hand, and Michael shook it, feeling a little stupid. "We have a bargain, then," she said. 

"Yeah." Michael stood for a moment. "I guess I'll go." Glad it was over, he headed for the door. 

"And, Michael?" 

"Yeah?" 

"This does not constitute permission to sleep with my daughter. I expect you to be a perfect gentleman, you hear?" 

Turning back, startled, he caught the smile on her face. Okay, she was teasing him, at least to some degree. But she hadn't actually made him _promise_ this time, and a good thing, too. With a nod, he headed out the door. A perfect gentleman? Mrs. DeLuca didn't know him at all.  
  
  
*****  


With some concern, Liz Parker watched her best friend wipe down the Crashdown's counter. Maria's movements were mechanical and her mind was obviously anywhere other than the restaurant. 

Come to think of it, she'd been this way her whole shift. Well, enough was most definitely enough. "All right," Liz said, breaking the silence. "The time for cleaning is over. It's time for ice cream and best friends." Heading into the kitchen, she pulled a container of ice cream out of the freezer without bothering to look at the label, then detoured back into the restaurant proper for a couple of spoons and Maria. Ice cream in one hand, best friend's arm in the other, Liz moved indomitably up the stairs and into her bedroom. The fact that Maria didn't even render a token protest told her that the blonde did indeed need to talk. 

"Okay," Liz said as she plopped down on one end of her bed, "what's up with you and Michael?" 

But Maria was staring down at the ice cream container. "Liz, why did you grab coffee ice cream? You _hate_ coffee ice cream." Her brow wrinkled, she added, "And not even for Michael Guerin will I eat a whole half-gallon by myself." 

"So it is Michael." 

Maria sighed and sat down. "When is it not?" she shot back, then corrected herself. "Actually, there's something else, but yeah, most of it is Michael. As usual." She fiddled with the edge of her Crashdown apron. "Liz, do you think he's capable of a real relationship?" 

Startled, Liz stared at her friend. "A real relationship?" she echoed, then caught her breath. "Maria, do you mean...you two haven't...." 

Maria didn't look the least bit embarrassed as she answered. "No. Excuse me, Liz, but you're my best friend, so don't you think I would have told you as soon as it happened? Besides," she added with a small smile, "I don't think I'd need to ask you if he were _capable_ if that was the case, would I? I'm not talking about the physical stuff. It's the other part, the _hard_ part." 

"Honestly?" Liz asked, and Maria nodded. "I think he cares about you," Liz said, "but I can see where he might have a hard time with it. He hasn't been used to people caring about him, right? Until I got shot and we got to know him, he was only close to Max and Isabel. Then you come along, and you start this thing and he doesn't know what to do." 

"He said I made him feel human," Maria mused. 

"And that's a bad thing?" 

"I think he thinks it is. Or at least that it's not worth it." At Liz's confused look, Maria told her about the fight she and Michael had just two days previously. "He doesn't even care if we have a relationship or not," she concluded. 

Liz stared at her, dumbfounded. "Maria, how can you think he doesn't care? Try looking at it logically." 

"It's not about logic; if it was it'd be easier," Maria objected. "It's all about the emotion here. Logic is so not my strong suit." 

Liz's lips twitched upwards in a smile. Maria had a point. "I can help you with that. During your conversation at the motel, did he or did he not tell you he loves you?" 

"He did," Maria admitted. 

"Well, then?" 

"Liz...." Maria hesitated. "Isabel says that what Michael says and what he does and what he really thinks aren't always the same thing. And she's right. I like hearing that he loves me, but if what he says and does are different, how am I supposed to tell which is real?" 

So it wasn't going to be enough for her best friend. "Okay, do you love him?" Liz asked patiently. 

"Of course I do. Is there anyone else I'd go through this for?" 

"Do you think he's ever told _anyone_ else he loves them?" 

"No," Maria said without hesitation. "But only because no one ever got through his stupid walls." 

"See? No one else got through. Just you, 'Ria. And do you really think it was all your own doing?" 

"What do you mean?" 

Granted, it was easier to see things more clearly in someone else's relationship than in your own, but still, sometimes her friend was practically blind. "Well, Michael can be pretty stubborn, right?" 

"Mule-headed is more like it." 

"So if he'd wanted to keep you out, don't you think he would've done just that? Did you really batter through those walls all by yourself, or did Michael _let_ you do it?" 

Maria was silent, staring down at the spoon she was toying with. When she spoke again, Liz could hear the pain in her voice. "Then why can't he show how he feels?" 

"If he's never loved anyone before, how do you expect him to know how to do it?" Liz asked reasonably. 

Maria closed her eyes and fell backward on the bed. "But Liz, is it so bad to want _something_ from him? I don't need flowers and candy and all that perfect boyfriend stuff. I gave that up last spring. I just need him to make some sort of effort, you know? Just to admit that we're worth working on, even if we don't always get it right. I need a little effort, something that doesn't have anything to do with aliens or the FBI or powers. Something to do with us." 

"And if he doesn't--or can't--give you that?" 

Miserably, Maria answered. "I don't know."  
  
  
*****  


Michael was feeling pretty stupid by the time he arrived back at his apartment building. His footsteps had slowed as he crossed town; he wasn't in any hurry to get back to his empty apartment. Somehow solitude wasn't all that appealing. But neither was another run-in like the one he'd just had. 

He'd gone to see Mrs. DeLuca to try and put her at ease with who he was--ha!--but she'd seemed calmer about it than he was. And then she'd started on about Maria.... 

Maria. Who hadn't yet told him if they were together or not, which was driving him crazy. It had been two freaking days, for god's sake! Couldn't she just make up her mind and put him out of his misery? It would almost be worth her saying no, just to have the waiting over with. 

Of course, a 'no' answer might kill him. 

He shouldn't have been stupid enough to give her a choice in the first place. He should just have kissed her again. She always seemed to get what he was feeling when he was kissing her. Even if part of it was unadulterated lust.... 

As he entered the apartment, his foot hit something that skittered across the floor and banked off a bar stool. "What the--" he muttered. Letting the door swing shut behind him, he went to investigate. 

The item he'd inadvertently punted into the middle of the living room was a manila envelope, its sides bulging. On the front was his name, printed in handwriting he didn't recognize. 

He stooped to pick it up, then turned it over in his hands. It _looked_ perfectly innocent, but how had it gotten inside his apartment in the first place? It was too thick to fit under the door. 

Oh, what the hell. Abandoning any sense of restraint, he ripped it open. A little too far open, because the envelope tore down the front, and suddenly there was money everywhere, drifting down to cover the threadbare carpet in a riot of green. 

Michael stared at it for a moment, then looked down at the remains of the envelope in his hands. A glimpse of white showed; he fished a note out. It wasn't signed. 

_Money from the sale of Bob's car_, it read. _Think of it as the spoils of war._ It didn't need to be signed; Nasedo had taken Bob's car when they'd escaped their underground prison two days earlier. He must have sold it. Well, it wasn't like Bob was going to be needing it any more. And Michael could certainly use the cash, especially since Bob's kidnapping spree had gotten Michael fired. 

Tossing the envelope and note onto the couch, Michael gathered the bills. Used bills, mostly fifties and one hundreds, with the occasional twenty and one five-hundred dollar bill. Michael had actually never seen one in person before. 

He counted the money into swift piles and added it up. It totaled six thousand, seven hundred dollars. Michael let out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding. 

Six thousand, seven hundred dollars. He was fucking _rich_.  
  
  
*****  


Max was half asleep over his Chemistry textbook when the pounding on his window began. Groggily he headed over to unlock it and admit his shivering best friend. 

"You could have opened it yourself," Max pointed out. "You can control things now, remember?" 

"What? Oh, that," Michael said with a shrug. "I forgot." 

Max raised surprised eyebrows at his friend. Michael had battled with uncertain powers for years, and now that he'd finally gotten some control over them, he _forgot?_

"What's going on?" he said with some trepidation as he sat back on his bed. With barely suppressed excitement, Michael reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what looked like a hunk of cash, dropping it on the bed in front of Max. From the other pocket came more money. Then the spiky-haired alien pulled out Max's desk chair and straddled it, his arms resting across its back. 

Max looked at his second-in-command, then back at the money. Then back at Michael. 

"I didn't rob a bank, Maxwell," Michael said without the least bit of offense. 

Max hastened to assure him, "I didn't think you had. I'm just...." 

"Not used to seeing me and this much cash together?" Michael said with a smirk. 

"I guess not," Max acknowledged. He was even more surprised at his friend's next comment. 

"Well, I signed on with New Mexico Electric and Gas. Good pay. With me and my powers on board, they can shut down an entire generator plant." 

"Okay, who are you and what did you do with my best friend? I don't think you've made a joke since...since...." Actually, Max couldn't remember when. 

"Yeah, well, I haven't much felt like joking lately," Michael admitted. 

"So where'd you come up with the loot?" 

"Nasedo sold Bob's car and left the money for me. There's close to seven thousand dollars there." 

Max let out a low whistle. "What are you going to do with it?" 

"Don't know. But I'm definitely not worrying about a new job 'til after Christmas break. I want to spend some time experimenting. Find out just exactly what I can do now, what my limits are." 

"I'll help you practice," Max offered, and got a nod in response. "So will Isabel." 

"So will Isabel what?" his sister asked from the doorway. Max wasn't surprised; she had a habit of turning up whenever her name was mentioned. It was spooky. Either that, or she was a habitual eavesdropper. 

"Help Michael with his powers," he answered. 

"Of course I will," she said immediately. Then her eyes went to the pile of cash on the bed. "What's that?" 

"Michael came into an inheritance," Max said. "Nasedo sold Bob's car." 

Excitement lit up Isabel's face. "Oh, good. Michael, we can go shopping. You desperately need some decent clothes. And a better couch. And--" 

"Can it, Isabel. I don't know what I'm gonna do with it, but it's not gonna be shopping with you. My clothes are fine." 

"Please. You give the grunge look a bad name," she scoffed. 

"Ain't gonna happen, Iz." 

"One. Let me help you pick out one decent outfit, that's all I ask." Michael acted like he hadn't even heard her suggestion, but she didn't give in. "Just think," she prodded, "you can wear it on a date and surprise Maria." 

This last comment _did_ have an effect. Max suspected it wasn't really the one she was looking for, though. 

"Can't." 

"Sure you can. Take her to Senor Chow's and--" Isabel cut herself off, her eyes narrowing. "Okay, Michael. What did you do?" 

"What makes you think I did anything?" 

Max sat straight up. The back-and-forth banter was one thing, but this was different. "What happened?" 

"Nothing." 

"I thought you two worked everything out at the motel." 

"Yeah, well, maybe that's what we wanted you to think." 

"What did you _do_, Michael?" Isabel pressed. 

"I told you," Michael said, bristling, "I didn't do anything." 

"Then why can't you take Maria out on a date?" 

"Because she hasn't decided if she wants to be with me!" Michael shouted, all patience at an end. 

Max stared at him. Had Michael finally lost it? "What do you mean?" Max asked. 

"She was complaining that I was trying to control her. Making decisions for her, even if it was just to keep her safe. So I let her decide if she wanted us in a relationship or not." 

"What did she say?" 

Michael's face darkened. "I don't know. She won't tell me." 

Isabel's mouth dropped open. "You're an idiot, Michael." 

In this particular case Max agreed, but he refrained from comment. He just watched as his best friend rose, gathered the bundles of cash, and stalked over to the window. 

Isabel's next comment kept him from climbing out, though. "Maria has done nothing but show how much she loves you," she lectured. "She went into the dreamscape to get you out when you pulled your little split-personality routine; she conned you into trying for better grades so you wouldn't flunk out and become even more of a bum; she went after you when Bob took you. She's always been the first to support you. She's put up with all this alien nonsense because of you, not because of me or Max. The thought of you being her boyfriend makes her light up in a really sickening way; I've seen it. She _loves_ you, Michael. So how on earth can you think she doesn't want to be in a relationship with you?" 

Michael's shoulders sagged. "Then how come she won't say so?" 

"I don't know--maybe because you didn't give her much of a chance to?" 

"She's had two days!" Michael snapped, wheeling around. "All she has to do is to make a stupid decision!" 

"For heaven's sake, Michael, can't you see that _that_ is the problem? She doesn't want to make decisions for the two of you. And she certainly doesn't want _you_ making them; she's too smart for that. You're supposed to be a couple. Maybe she wants you to make the decisions _together_." 

"She knows how I feel. She knows what my vote is." 

"And what would that be?" asked Isabel. Max held back a grin as Michael closed his mouth tightly and didn't answer. "Come on, you can say it," Isabel encouraged. 

"I love her. I want to be with her, okay?" 

"Very good!" Isabel cheered. 

"Don't patronize me, Izzy." 

Isabel brushed his objection aside. "I'm not. And how does Maria feel about you? You might as well admit it, Michael, because I'm not leaving you alone until you do." 

Crossly, Michael muttered something that Max didn't quite catch. 

"What?" Isabel asked. 

"I said she loves me!" Michael shouted, at the end of his tether. "I love Maria, Maria loves me. Are you happy now?" 

Moving towards him, Isabel gave him a hug. "Yes," she said simply. 

Michael ducked out of her embrace. "Good. Then you can help me figure out how to fix this." 

"I think I can do that. Mind you," she warned, "it's not going to be easy. And you probably won't like it." 

Not even trying to hide his trepidation, Michael glanced over at Max. "What do you think, Maxwell?" 

Max grinned. "Honestly? I think Isabel should consider a career as a motivational speaker." And he ducked, laughing, as his sister pulled out a pillow from behind him and launched it in his direction.  
  
  



	40. Chapter 40

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 40**_

The next morning, Michael sat drumming his fingers in erratic rhythms on his desk as he waited for Maria to show up for English. Student after student filed into the room, but no Maria. 

Great. It would figure that the one day he'd shown up early for school, Maria would run late. 

He sighed and let his gaze wander around the room. Over half of the students were wearing blue and gold, the school colors, and most of the others bore some version of his mark on their cheek. Some wore both. And as far as any of them could tell, he was right there along with them. He had to hand it to Whitman and Valenti: looked like their scheme was working. 

Of course, if it had been for real, he would have run screaming before doing anything that remotely smacked of school spirit.... 

A movement at the door caught his eye, and he froze in place. Was that really Maria? What the hell was she supposed to be? The clothing wasn't too bad--if it wasn't December. But the gold-colored skirt she wore--could you even call that a skirt?--was awfully short, and the blue top or shirt or whatever she wore with it wasn't that much better. Had her mother let her out of the house in that get-up? She shouldn't be allowed anywhere looking like that. He swallowed. Anywhere but his apartment, that is.... 

And, on top of her not-leaving-all-that-much-to-the-imagination clothing, her hair was blue. _Blue_. And she'd done something to her face, because it had a golden sheen. Well, at least she wasn't wearing Bob's stupid mark. He'd hated seeing her face marred by it yesterday. But, blue hair and all, the whole thing was surprisingly effective. Michael shifted in his seat. Was she trying to kill him? 

He managed to find his voice as she sat down. "Hey," he said. 

"Hey back." Her tone was off-hand. 

"Uh...how's it going?" 

"Fine, thanks. You?" 

"Decent." Which that costume of hers wasn't. School spirit be damned--how come they hadn't sent her home yet? Wasn't there a dress code or something? 

She must have gotten tired of him staring at her, because she frowned and snapped, "What?" 

"Nothing," he blurted. "You just look--you look--" 

"I look what?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. 

He searched for the right word, finally settling on, "Uh...interesting." 

"Interesting?" she said carefully, as if testing the word out on her tongue. "So is that good or bad?" 

"Uh...it's good," he assured her. Then from somewhere, maybe from some Isabel-influenced portion of his brain, he heard himself add, "But you always look good." 

She drew a quick breath in, then turned her attention to the front of the room as Mrs. Gideon started the class. But a pleased smile curved her lips upward. 

Michael didn't smile, but he felt like it. He'd only told her the truth, but maybe for once he'd actually managed to do something right.  
  
  
*****  


He hadn't really meant to go to Maria's house. He didn't want to press his luck, after all; and she still wasn't exactly conversing with him, although he suspected she was still trying to torture him. Case in point: today's outfit. To anyone else, her pajama-clad body just made her blend in with all the other school spirit-reeking dorks. But she'd worn those same pajamas in a couple of the dreams they'd shared. Michael could still feel the softness of the faded flannel against his fingertips, and picture the pale sliver of skin that had been revealed as he'd started to unbutton the top.... 

Whoever had decided to make this Pajama Day should be shot. 

Okay, maybe they shouldn't, since they were Whitman and Valenti. Valenti had already been there, anyway, and Max would just have to heal him again. Plus they were only doing it to help Michael in the first place. But that didn't mean Maria had to participate quite so thoroughly, did it? 

Maria. She probably wasn't even home yet. For the past two days, she and Alex had spent most of the lunch hour discussing this afternoon's Whits rehearsal; they'd probably be practicing in the Whitman garage for hours yet. But regardless, Michael found his feet wandering down the sidewalk in the direction of the DeLuca residence. He hadn't meant to; he'd just wanted to get out and clear his head after several long hours of burying it in his schoolbooks. He didn't know if his bet with Maria was still on, but he was damned if he'd quit and let her win by default. Hence the studying. He wasn't surprised to find out he didn't enjoy it any more than he'd suspected he would. Bet or not, school just wasn't his thing. 

His semi-willing studiousness had finally collapsed under the prickling need for action, for movement, and he'd escaped from his apartment into the cool December air. And now he found himself rounding the corner onto the street where Maria lived. 

He was pathetic. He wasn't at all likely to see her, and there were plenty of other things he could be doing. Practicing his powers, for one. He hadn't really tried to use them since the night he and Nasedo had forced Bob into the shape of no return. To tell the truth, he was a little afraid to, not that he'd ever admit it to anyone else. He wasn't entirely certain why. Sure, the feeling he'd gotten when he first had created the little sparks of light back in his concrete prison--that had been incredible, like something inside him shifted into place, into a perfect fit. A moment of rightness in the midst of the swirling confusion and doubt that came from having his mind blasted open and a whole hidden part of his personality exposed. And part of him longed for that rightness again. 

But battling against that were years of self-doubt. And finding out that this newly-controlled power had been generated by the death of his sister, back in his former life, didn't exactly help things. So in the few days since he'd been back, he hadn't taken the opportunity to practice. He could have; he just...hadn't. 

He was going to have to deal with it sometime, though. That's why he'd told Max he wanted to spend Christmas break finding out just what he could do; Michael knew his best friend would hound him about it all vacation. Well, not hound, exactly, but he'd keep asking with genuine concern until Michael would be forced to buckle down and practice just to get Max off his back. 

And at some point he'd need to know what he was capable of. Just because Nasedo said that other enemy aliens on Earth were unlikely, that didn't mean they were danger-free. They might very well have to defend themselves from a human threat if anyone else found out about them. Plus they still had the whole 'save the home planet from peril' agenda to worry about. Yeah, it was overwhelmingly, mind-numbingly impossible, but Michael had the feeling that Max wasn't going to accept that. His best friend had a massively overdeveloped--and now planet-sized--sense of responsibility. It was a pain in the ass. 

If the hours and hours spent lurking outside Maria's house during the whole anonymous note fiasco hadn't attuned Michael to the physical surroundings, the quickly shifting thoughts tumbling through his mind might have kept him from noticing the furtive movement at the side of the home. But as it was, his eye was drawn to the man who was peering through a window, hand cupped over his eyes to cut off the glare of the afternoon sun's reflection. 

Tensing, Michael took refuge behind a conveniently parked car across the street to scope out the situation. He didn't think he'd seen the guy before, and he wasn't getting a freaky alien threat vibe from him, but something about him wasn't right. Something beyond the fact that he was playing peeping tom. 

Michael was suddenly very glad about Maria's rehearsal. She could stay with Whitman and the other guys in the band all night, if she wanted. She'd be safe there. Even if the other band members weren't harmless, Alex would look out for her. Although she could probably handle those three by herself, anyway. Whatever--Maria would be okay there, that was the point. And her mother would still be at her shop, so she'd be okay too, no matter what this guy was up to. 

Flattening his palm against the glass, the man peered through the window one last time, then pushed away from the house and moved towards the street. Not just towards the street, but across it and towards the car Michael was using as cover. 

Shit! 

Hastily he ducked down and pretended to be retying the lace on his boot. As the guy came near, Michael straightened and strolled casually down the sidewalk. The guy didn't pay him any attention, just climbed into the car and started it up. As the car--a beige Buick Regal, Michael noted--went by, he took a good look at the New Mexico license plate. Then, his face set, he headed away from the house. He didn't need an excuse to put off his homework any longer--he had something to do.  
  
  
*****  


Alex couldn't help but grin as The Whits surged into a final chorus of 'Santa Baby'. A sweater-and-blue jean clad Maria was singing her heart out on the sappy Christmas song. They'd really pulled this Christmas stuff together pretty fast--he had a feeling the gig would go just fine. First, McGill & Chavez Insuance Co.'s Christmas party, next stop, _Rolling Stone_. Or at least a regular spot somewhere, enough to keep them in guitar strings and amp cords. 

It wasn't like he was intending to make music his life or anything. He loved it, he really did, but he wanted something a bit more stable. And he had every intention of graduating from high school and going off to college somewhere, just like his parents had planned. He was torn between the intricacies of the computer and those of the human mind; he'd probably end up either in programming or psychology. 

Anyway, he'd really started The Whits to meet girls, or at least that's what he'd told the guys. It may have been true then, but not now. Not when he was walking the ledge between friendship and something else with Isabel Evans. And a good thing too, since the upcoming gig was only likely to introduce him to women his mother's age. Insurance--not the place to pick up a hottie. 

The song over, he swung his bass strap over his shoulder and placed the instrument carefully in its stand. Nicky and Marcus were arguing about the tempo of the last tune, while Chris looked on, twirling his drumsticks in between his fingers. Across the garage Maria was drinking from a water bottle, rubbing the back of her neck. As he headed towards her, her hand stilled and she slowly turned in the direction of the garage's side door. Alex wasn't too surprised when Michael Guerin entered a moment later. 

But he was surprised when Michael strode right past Maria and headed in his direction. 

"I need to talk to you," Michael said, not mincing matters. "It's important." 

It usually was, with Michael. He really needed to learn how to relax a little. Get a hobby or something. But now was probably not the time to bring it up. "Yeah, sure." Alex raised his voice. "Let's take a break, okay? There's pop and junk food in the kitchen." It didn't take more than a mention of free food to have the guys heading out of the garage into the house. Alex couldn't decide if that made them typical teenagers or typical musicians. Maybe both. He turned back to Michael. "What's up?" 

"How good are you on the computer?" Michael asked. "I need you to do some hacking." 

"I've gotten into the FBI server," Alex said airily. He had, too, so it wasn't exactly bragging. "Anything else should be anti-climactic." 

"Why, what's going on?" Maria demanded, coming up to them. 

"I need to trace a car." 

Maria didn't seem satisfied by this rather sketchy statement. "What car?" 

For a moment Michael hesitated, and Alex thought he was going to refuse to explain. Then he shrugged and made what Alex suspected was the wise choice not to keep her in the dark. "I was walking by your house--" 

Her eyebrows rose. "Why?" 

"I don't know why, okay? I just was," Michael snapped. He made a visible effort to pull himself together. "And I saw someone looking into your windows." 

"Another shapeshifter?" she suggested uneasily. 

Michael shook his head. "I don't think so. I didn't...I didn't get that kind of feeling from him." 

Maria gave a thoughtful nod. Alex asked, "So a burglar or peeping tom or something? Why not call Sheriff Valenti? He could run a trace, easy." 

The alien fixed his eyes on Alex, who twitched uncomfortably under his gaze. But when Michael spoke, he didn't sound that upset. "I'm not stupid, okay?" he said. "I already called Valenti and he traced the license plate. Problem is, it's a rental car. I want you to hack into their records and find out who the driver is." 

"Having the Sheriff inquire would be easier," Alex pointed out. 

"The rental place is in Santa Fe, so it's not exactly in his jurisdiction. And getting the police there involved is gonna take a lot more than some juvenile delinquent saying he saw someone looking in a window." 

"You're not a juvenile delinquent," Maria protested. 

"Yeah? I don't think too many other people are gonna see it that way. Face it: Valenti excluded, the cops and I are never gonna get along." He turned back to Alex. "So can you do it or not?" 

Alex considered for a moment. Maybe he shouldn't have crowed over his earlier success. "I can try. Hacking the FBI was just a matter of following Ms. Topolsky's email backwards. This--well, I can try," he repeated. 

"If you can't, I'll go to Plan B." 

"What's Plan B?" Alex asked. 

Michael shrugged. "I go to Santa Fe to check it out myself." 

Although this suggestion seemed obvious to Alex, it didn't sit well with Maria. "Wait a minute," she said, cutting into their planning. "Maybe we don't need to do either. Michael, what did this peeper look like?" 

"I don't know, just a guy." 

She rolled her eyes. "You're the one with the perfect visual recall. So recall." 

"White. Brown hair. Not too tall, but not short, either. Average build," Michael listed obediently. He closed his eyes to better picture the image. "Dark red jacket, jeans, running shoes. Clean shaven. Uh...crooked nose, maybe broken...He was wearing sunglasses, so I couldn't see his eyes." His own eyes opened. "Ring any bells?" 

Alex glanced over at Maria. She was frowning, her eyes focusing on something far away. "Maria?" 

"What? No," she said. "No, he doesn't sound familiar. He could be anybody." She tightened the lid on her water bottle, then unscrewed it again. "Look, it doesn't sound like anything important. Probably just a salesman or something. Let's just leave it, okay?" 

Something about this wasn't right. And from the expression on Michael's face, he agreed. "I don't think--" Alex began. 

Maria cut him off. "I said to leave it." 

"I'm not gonna--" Michael started. He didn't get any further than Alex had. 

"I mean it. Promise me you'll drop this, both of you," she said firmly. But her eyes pleaded with them. 

"Yeah, sure," Alex said. If she was that upset about it, he wasn't about to make things worse. 

For his part, Michael kept quiet, his jaw tight. Maria looked up at him. "Michael. _Please._" 

Michael let out a deep breath. "Fine. I promise. I won't chase this guy's car down. I'll drop the subject. You happy now?" 

Maria's voice was soft. "Thank you." 

"Whatever," Michael muttered. He turned on his heel and stalked over to the door. Standing in the doorway, he turned back to Maria. "I don't know what you're hiding, Maria, but tell somebody. Alex, Liz...somebody." Then the door swung shut behind him. 

Alex studied his friend, who was carefully not looking in his direction. "What's going on, Maria?" 

"Nothing," she assured him, her tone lighter now. "Michael's just being _way_ too overprotective, as usual. He's got to learn he can not run my life for me, that's all." She took a swig of water. "So how about we get the guys back in here? We've still got a lot to run through, right?" And she moved smoothly to the kitchen door. 

Alex sighed. If only she and Michael would work out whatever was going on between them, life would be a lot easier all around.  
  
  
*****  


Amy DeLuca was in the living room, watching the news and sipping peppermint tea, when Maria arrived home. 

"Hey, honey," she said. "How was rehearsal?" 

Maria dropped her bookbag on the floor and sat down beside her mother. "Pretty good," she answered. "At least I don't think we'll embarrass ourselves." She looked around the room. This was the first time she'd been in here since the night Bob had taken them hostage. She was a little surprised that it didn't bother her more--was she actually getting inured to such matters? 

And even more than that, her mother seemed perfectly calm about it. Maria had been expecting an order to stay away from the Czechoslovakians--or at least a series of lectures on safety. Of course, her mother did have other things on her mind.... 

When Maria had heard about the man who'd been staring into their windows, she'd wondered if perhaps it had been the detective her mother had hired to find Uncle Teddy. But she wasn't going to ask. She wanted nothing to do with that, and she certainly didn't want to have to explain it to Alex and Michael. Not even Liz knew about it, and she wanted it kept that way. It was all right, though; they'd both promised to leave it alone. And she trusted Michael to keep an actual promise. 

She glanced over at the TV, where the weatherman was predicting sunny skies and reasonable temperatures for the upcoming weekend. Decent weather, which was nice, although between her heavy work schedule at the Crashdown and Sunday afternoon's gig, she wouldn't have much time to enjoy it. Thank goodness for Christmas break--she could hardly wait until she had a little down time. 

Of course, before then she had homework and a decision about what to wear for tomorrow's Spirit Week effort. She needed something good--she wasn't about to be caught dead in something half-hearted. Liz had already decided to go as Dorothy, braids, blue dress, red shoes and all; but Maria was still undecided. 

A smile flitted across her lips. Tuesday's effort had certainly paid off. Michael had actually given her a clumsy compliment, and he wasn't the only guy who'd noticed her that day. She hadn't gotten that much attention since she'd worn the Aqua Bra last year in an ill-fated (and chilly) attempt to make Michael realize what he was missing out on. 

Of course, her choices of outfits so far this week had nothing to do with that. She hadn't had Michael in mind as she put together her admittedly extreme outfit for Blue-and-Gold Day, not at all. And she'd chosen those particular PJs for Pajama Day solely because they were warm and comfortable, and because she could get by her mother more easily in them than in the skimpier tank top-and-shorts set she usually slept in. If Michael thought she looked good--well, that was just a bonus. She'd kept him totally out of her choices so far; she'd do the same for tomorrow's outfit. If only she could figure out what it would be.... 

Next to her, her mother rose and moved towards the doorway. "I'm going to see about dinner," she said. "How does chicken and onion rice sound?" 

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Maria replied, only halfway listening. Her mother was still handicapped by the sling and cast, though, so she should help out. Not cook or anything--she didn't want to accidentally poison them--but whatever she could do. "I'll come set the table in a minute, okay?" She grabbed her bookbag and headed for her room. 

Five minutes later, she sank, dissatisfied, onto her bed. She needed a killer outfit, and all she had was the same old stuff. She could hardly pretend like her favorite movie character was a homeless person. 

If only she could wave her wand and magically transform something from her closet into something out-of-the-ordinary, then she-- 

Oh. Oooohhhhh! 

Scrambling for the phone, she dialed a number and stood, waiting breathlessly, for it to be answered. A moment later, a voice on the other end said, "Hello?" 

"Isabel?" Maria said. "Could you help me with something?"  
  
  



	41. Chapter 41

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 41**_

Straightening up, Max rubbed a hand across his tired eyes, then stood to stretch out his back. He'd been sitting at his desk for hours, staring at the metal sheets they'd retrieved from Nasedo's room, and he had nothing to show for it. Not one of the symbols incised into the metal meant anything to him. 

But he wasn't giving up yet. Maybe if the others studied them, they'd come up with something. Michael hadn't even glanced at the sheets yet; maybe when he did, his photographic memory would kick in. If it was part of his former life and not limited to his current hybrid state. One of them _had_ to be able to read them. 

With a sigh, he put the pages into a desk drawer and waved a hand over it to weld it shut. Then he headed to the kitchen. 

He was pouring himself a glass of orange juice when the back door opened and Isabel came in. "You're out late," he observed. 

"Were you waiting up for me, Dad?" his sister asked with a smile. 

Max held up the juice carton and, at Isabel's nod, reached into the cupboard for a second glass. "Mom and Dad have gone to bed, but you know they won't go to sleep until they know you're home." 

Isabel took a sip of juice. "I know. I'll check in with them in a minute." 

"Where were you?" 

"At Maria's. I was helping her with her costume for tomorrow." 

"Helping her...how?" 

"Just how you think," Isabel retorted. "It's fine; both Maria and her mother know about us, remember?" 

"Sorry. Habit," Max said apologetically. "So what's she going as?" 

Isabel smiled. "Let's just say that Michael's not going to hate it." Max raised an eyebrow, but she declined to comment further, at least on that topic. "Speaking of costumes," she said instead, "I know what Liz is going as." 

"Oh?" 

"Mm-hmm." 

He decided to give in and ask; it was what she was waiting for. Besides, he was curious. "Okay, what is she going as?" 

"Dorothy from 'The Wizard of Oz', Isabel told him. "You could go as the Tin Man, you know. Be a matched set." 

"I already have a heart," Max said calmly. 

"You had one," his sister teased. "Now I believe it's in the possession of one Liz Parker." Her expression grew more serious. "Have you even told her that your whole mission no longer exists?" 

"I'm not so sure it doesn't," he said. 

"Max, we can't go there. It's impossible," she protested. 

"I know that. But that doesn't necessarily mean we can't do something to help our people. I just don't know what yet." 

"Max, I--" she began, then brought herself to a screeching halt. "So I take it we won't be seeing you in tin tomorrow?" she asked instead. 

"I've still got my 'Men in Black' costume from the Crash Festival last year. I can wear that." 

"Too bad. We could have had a whole theme going. Liz as Dorothy, you as the Tin Man...Michael could have gone as the Cowardly Lion." 

Max smiled at the absurd mental image of them trying to stuff Michael into a lion suit. "Are you trying to tell me that you think Michael lacks courage?" he asked. 

"Well, he hasn't gotten back with Maria yet, has he?" she said, her tone reasonable. 

"That's not a lack of courage, it's just refusing to go along with your overly-convoluted schemes," he said in defense of his best friend. 

"It's not that complicated. And he asked for help, anyway." 

"But did you really think he was going to follow your instructions down to the last letter? His natural reaction is to avoid doing what he's told. Even if he actually liked your plan, Michael would be more likely to...to try out for the basketball team before he'd do everything you suggested," Max told her quite honestly. "He needs to find his own way." 

"I'm just tired of seeing him unhappy," she complained. 

"I know. But don't you think having him sweep Maria away from school in a coach-and-four is just a little over the top?" 

"Maria would probably think it was romantic," Isabel said with a toss of her head. "For that matter, so would Liz." 

"Hold it there," Max protested, putting his hands out to stop her from any more words. "Let's leave Liz out of it, okay?" 

She opened her mouth to protest, but he forestalled her. "Besides, why is it that you're so interested in Michael's love life, and my love life, and yet you don't seem to have one of your own?" 

She gave him a disgruntled look. "Oh, fine. There will be no romantic gestures, no cute themed costumes," she sighed. 

"Well, what would you have gone as, anyway?" Max countered. "A flying monkey?" 

"Of course not," Isabel said indignantly. "I'd be Glinda, of course. After all," she added as she headed out of the kitchen, "I can already do magic."  
  
  
*****  


"How long is he going to sit there?" Maria fumed. "Shouldn't he be off...like, brooding or something?" 

Alex swiveled the stool around and took a sip of his root beer. "He's eating," he said calmly. 

"Yeah, I know. I took his order--three hours ago. Michael doesn't take three hours to eat. Michael wolfs his food down like he's scared it'll bite back or something." 

"Maybe he's not hungry." 

"Then why can't he go be not hungry someplace else?" 

Glancing around the half-empty restaurant, Alex asked, "Why? D'you need the booth?" 

"Okay, that is so not the point, Alex." 

"Then what is?" 

"That he's stalking me again. It's like everywhere I've gone today--no, make that the last three days--he's been there. And since, contrary to his warped imagination, no one's been threatening me, there's no reason for him to follow me around!" 

Alex couldn't help but grin. "Hey, maybe he likes you, DeLuca." 

"That's not the point either." 

He turned to look in Michael's direction again. The alien took a bite of cold french fry and turned the page of the book he was reading, one of several that were strewn haphazardly across the table. Maria was right--it looked like Michael had settled in for a long stay. 

Michael must have felt Alex's eyes on him, because he looked up; but other than a brief nod in Alex's direction, he didn't pay him much attention. Instead his glance slid past Alex to Maria, who stiffened and looked away. Alex saw with some amusement that Maria's hand trembled as she straightened the silver antennae she wore in her dark brown hair. 

"He's been watching me all day," she complained. 

"Told you you were going overboard with the whole Spirit Week thing. Maybe you should have dressed like one of 'The Sound of Music' nuns instead of Catwoman." 

"I told you, I wasn't Catwoman. I was Trinity from 'The Matrix'. And I was just going along with your scheme, Alex. It was movie character day; what did you think I would wear?" 

"And your choice had nothing to do with the fact that Michael's seen 'The Matrix' seven times?" 

"As a matter of fact, it didn't. I just happen to like black leather, okay?" 

"Since when?" 

"Since Isabel did her Czechoslovakian thing and helped me make it," Maria admitted. 

Alex nodded. "Did she do your hair, too?" he asked. 

Her hand flew up to her hair. "No, it's just a rinse. It'll wash out." She hesitated. "Why? Does it look better dark?" 

Alex had been friends with Maria and Liz too long; he knew better than to answer that one. "I am not about to be caught up in that. Ask somebody else." He paused, then said slyly, "Ask Michael--you said he'd been watching you all day anyway. He's probably got an opinion by now." 

Maria's gaze shot back over to the other side of the restaurant. "Oh, thank god," she muttered. Alex looked over to see that Michael had closed the book he'd been reading. And then, as Maria made a sound that was half gasp and half moan, Michael opened another text, pulled out a pencil and notebook, and began to scrawl. Alex snickered. Looked like Michael wasn't planning to go anywhere.  
  
  
*****  


"Okay, that is the last straw!" Maria snapped. Dropping the sponge she'd been pretending to use on the counter, she ignored Alex's grin and stalked around the counter, heading directly toward the source of her indignation. 

Michael looked up as she approached. "Hey." 

Hey? That was all he had to say? Well, that figured. God forbid Mr. Taciturn should actually hold a conversation. Give her orders, yes. Make decisions for her, sure. But a conversation? No way. She smiled her best icy smile at him. "Can I get you anything else, sir?" 

Blinking, he contemplated her face for a moment, then asked, "What's wrong with you?" 

What was wrong with _her?_ "What do you mean, what's wrong with me? You're stalking me again!" 

"I'm not stalking you." 

"Well, you could have fooled me. You've been following me around again." 

"So?" 

Maria watched dazedly as a rare smile flitted across his lips. His lips, that she wished were kissing her--no, she didn't. That way led to madness and heartbreak. And racing pulses and tingling skin and the feeling of flying through space.... 

"Does this have anything to do with yesterday?" she demanded. "You know, with the man you saw?" 

"I told you I'd drop that, didn't I?" he said, obviously affronted. 

He had said that; he'd promised. And she was certain he would keep that promise, so why had she even brought it up? "Well then, quit watching me!" she snapped. 

"But I like watching you!" he snapped back. 

What? That didn't sound at all like Michael. Not so much the sentiment--because he was, after all, a very visual person--but the fact that he'd actually _said_ it. Out loud. In a public place, where anyone could overhear. Even if it was more argumentative than complimentary, which was very like Michael. 

So what was this? He was the one with no interest in their relationship, so what gave him the right to act like he had? "Look, if you don't want anything else, could you just finish up and go?" she demanded, not caring how rude she sounded. "We need this booth for our _paying_ customers." 

Unfortunately, this didn't seem to phase him in the least. In fact, one side of his mouth curled up in a half-smirk. "But I am a paying customer," he advised her, pulling a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and tossing it carelessly onto the table. 

Where did he get money to throw around like that? Especially since he'd been too busy being abducted to work a whole lot recently. And, come to think of it, when had he _ever_ come to the Crashdown by himself, sat down and ordered just like anyone else? He usually just tagged along with Max and Isabel. So when had-- 

"And you're wrong, Maria--I do want something else." 

Startled, she tore her eyes from the crumpled bill and jerked her gaze up to his. His eyes burned through hers, and she lifted her chin in defiance. Darned if she'd show him just how thrown she was. "What?" she challenged. 

One eyebrow rose. "Looking at your expression, I don't think I'm gonna get it. So I'll settle for...chocolate cake," he said, then added, "And more Tabasco." 

Chocolate cake and Tabasco. "Sweet and spicy, huh?" she blurted, then wished she could take the words back. "Uh...yeah, I'll get it for you," she said hastily, then scurried away from the table, half flustered and half furious with herself. How could she let him do this to her? Why was he making her feel so...so unsettled? And what did he think he was he doing, anyway? What happened to the Michael who didn't give a hoot about them being together? Sure, he was infuriating, but at least she knew where she stood with him. This version of Michael was different. Contrary to the way she'd acted the other night Maria was not an idiot; she was certainly more than capable of recognizing Michael Guerin's perverse form of flirtation. 

Because he _was_ flirting with her. He was opening up and talking to her like she meant something. Like _they_ meant something. 

Her mind flashed back to the conversation she'd had with Liz earlier that week. In the light of day, she was a little embarrassed about her behavior. How could she have let herself abandon everything she was sure of and let that old monster, insecurity, claw its way through her? She knew what Michael was like, how annoyingly thick-headed he could be about their relationship, so why had she practically given up on them? Liz was right; he just needed a little guidance. And a whole heck of a lot of patience. 

Although the way he was acting today--Maria wondered if her best friend had blessed Michael with a lecture, too. Because _something_ sure had him acting differently. Maybe there was some hope for them after all.  
  
  
*****  


Michael was more than ready to push his books away when Maria, dressed in the tight black leather outfit she'd worn to school, came out of the back room a few hours later. She made a beeline to his booth and stood there, her hands on her hips. She looked...good. Different, with the dark hair, but still.... 

"So why are you still here?" she asked, but the earlier harshness had disappeared from her tone. "Don't tell me you're still hungry." 

"No." He could hardly be; he'd been ordering food for her entire shift. He was experiencing an unaccustomed sensation of repletion; it had probably been the third huge wedge of cake she'd served that had done him in. "Just doing some homework." 

"The library's a lot quieter." 

"Yeah...but the scenery's better here." 

"Oh, really?" 

"Yeah." Like she didn't know it. 

"Well, this piece of scenery is off for the evening and is heading home. See you." 

Swinging the cover of his notebook shut, Michael began piling up his books. "Hold on a minute. I just gotta pay." 

Maria paused, then turned back to him. "Did we have plans I don't know about?" 

"No. I just thought I'd make sure you got home okay." 

"Why? Are you expecting more visits from your relatives?" 

Did she have to make this so hard? "No. They're pretty much either dead or...uh, incapacitated, remember?" He slid out from the booth and grabbed his books, shoving them into an ancient-looking backpack that Max had passed along to him in junior high. It hadn't actually gotten used all that much since then. 

Crossing to the cash register, he paid the check and pocketed his change, then turned to Maria. "You ready?" 

"First of all, I don't recall saying I needed a babysitter just to go home--" she began. Enough of this. With a shake of his head, Michael reached out to grab her hand and pulled her through the front door. 

Her mouth never stopped moving. "--and second, you left this on the table." She held out her other hand, showing him the twenty-dollar bill he'd tossed there earlier. 

Well, duh. "Maria, that's the tip." 

"What? That's more than your whole bill came to, even with all that cake, which, by the way, must be what is causing your delusional sugar-high. Michael, you can not afford to be throwing money around like that," she protested. 

What was it that made all the women he knew want to manage his money? First Isabel, now Maria. The next thing he knew, Liz would be designing a low-risk investment plan for him, and Mrs. DeLuca would want him to donate it to Save the Rainforest or something. But he'd decide for himself, thanks; he preferred to concentrate on saving Michael Guerin. And maybe a big-screen TV.... 

And he suddenly realized that Maria was trying to press the bill into his hand. "I'm not taking your money, Michael," she said. "You need it." 

He pulled away from her. "You earned it." 

"I can't take money from you. It doesn't feel right." 

"Yeah? So what if I was somebody else, like..." Michael racked his brain for his polar opposite, and settled on, "...like the Vice Principal? Would you take the tip then?" 

"Mr. Sutter never comes to the Crashdown. And if he did, he wouldn't order three desserts." 

Would she quit it with the three desserts? She'd given him a hard enough time when she'd served him earlier. He liked chocolate, and the cake they had at the Crashdown was pretty good, especially when slathered in Tabasco. So if he wanted to eat three pieces, he'd eat three pieces. "Yeah, but if he had, would you keep it then?" 

She hesitated. "I guess." 

Then what was the problem? "So keep this." 

"Take it back, Michael." 

"No." 

"Take it." 

God, she was stubborn. "No." 

"Fine," she said. "Then I'll make sure you take it." She reached for his jacket pocket, and he grabbed her wrist to stop her. 

"You do that, I'll do the same thing," he warned. 

Her voice was triumphant. "You can't. My jacket doesn't have any pockets." 

No way was he letting her win this. Besides, he was kind of having fun. Arguing with Maria felt...normal. Deliberately, Michael moved close to her, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He raised one eyebrow. "Then I'll have to find another place to put it, won't I?" 

He watched as her eyes widened and she actually blushed. Lifting his hand, he ran a finger down the bridge of her nose and tapped it lightly. "It's okay, Maria. I want you to have it." 

"It feels wrong to be taking money from you," she said. 

"It's okay," he repeated with a shrug. "When I run out, I can always go rob another bank." 

"Michael!" 

She sounded peeved. Maybe he'd better explain. "It's not a big deal, okay? Bob had a car that he drove out to the bunker. He won't exactly be needing it any more, so Nasedo sold it. I'm independently wealthy--at least for a little while." Okay, now was her chance to go all crazy and rag on him to blow it all on clothes and stuff, just like Isabel. 

Maria looked up at him, considering. "I'll make a deal with you," she said finally. "Christmas break starts next week. One day when we're both not working, we can go see a movie. If we catch a matinee, this should pay for the tickets and some popcorn. Do we have a deal?" 

Did they have a deal? What, did she think he was stupid or something, that he'd turn down the opportunity to sit for a couple of hours in the dark with her? But what exactly did she mean by it? She'd never said what she'd decided as far them being together went. Michael cleared his throat. "Uh...I don't know. Is this a date or something?" 

She looked away, her eyelashes sweeping down to hide her eyes. "Why? Do you want it to be?" 

He barely recognized his own voice. "Yeah." 

There was a tense pause before she said, "Well, then, I guess it's a date." 

For some reason, that statement seemed to make her nervous, because she began to jabber away. "Well, I've got Mom's car, and it's parked around the corner, so I guess I should go. You don't need to see me home or anything; I'll be fine. So why don't you take the money for now and we'll set up a time to go once our schedules are fixed--" 

This time, Michael let her press the contested twenty-dollar bill into his hand, wishing she'd just calm down. There was nothing for her to be nervous about; they were just talking about a date. His stomach flipped. Then again.... 

Oh, what the hell. Reaching out, he framed her face in his hands and gave her a swift kiss, not caring that they were on the Crashdown's sidewalk in full view of any passers-by. 

Maria looked up at him, her expression unreadable. Realizing he was still holding her, he hastily dropped his hands but didn't look away. "That was...uh, that was just to calm you down," he said. Well, it had worked before. 

"Uh-huh." Why did she sound so unconvinced? 

"Well...I'll walk you to the car." 

This time she didn't argue. "Okay." 

It only took a moment to get there. Neither said anything on the short walk but, to his relief, Maria gave him a quick smile as she climbed in and turned the key in the ignition. 

Suddenly, Michael didn't want her to go. "Maria!" he shouted, knocking on the Jetta's window. She unrolled it, and he stood there, trying to come up with something to say. 

Her eyebrows rose. "What, Michael?" 

Dammit! Why was he so tongue-tied all of a sudden? He should just bite the bullet and tell her how he felt. It had been one of the many things on Isabel's list: tell Maria just how much she meant to him. Even though she already knew anyway. Girls liked that kind of thing. He had to stop being a loser, Isabel had instructed, and become very verbal about his emotions, no matter how hard it was. Take that chance.... 

"Uh...uh, no chick flicks. You know, on our date." Great. Not only was he a loser, he was now a _pathetic_ loser. 

"I guess I'll have to give you instruction on what makes a proper date movie," she said with a sigh. "See you tomorrow, Spaceboy." 

Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her drive off. Looked like he was in for a couple of hours of soppy feel-good feminine crap. 

And taking everything into consideration, he almost didn't mind.  
  
  



	42. Chapter 42

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 42**_

By dint of rushing through his cleanup in metal shop, Michael made it to the cafeteria and staked out a table in the corner before anyone else got there. He sat and crossed his arms over his chest, adopting a foreboding expression to keep away anyone who wasn't willing to brave it. Which was anyone other than those in his immediate circle. Alex was the first of the gang to arrive, and he grinned as he dropped into a chair across from Michael. 

"So, who won last night?" he asked, sticking a straw into his milk carton. 

"What?" 

"Did Maria finally kick you out, or did you manage to outstay her?" 

"Neither. We left at the same time," Michael answered. 

"Ah, a tie! Well, better luck next time." 

Michael frowned. "It isn't a game, you know." 

"What's not a game?" asked Isabel, taking the seat next to Alex. 

Although Alex opened his mouth to respond, Michael hastened to cut him off. "Nothing." He wasn't about to let Isabel get back on the subject of Maria. He was still reeling from all the crazy instructions she'd loaded on him the other night. Instructions which he had no intention of following. Hurriedly, he changed the subject. "When can we start working on...on my problem?" he asked, gesturing to his cheek and the alien mark that was the prototype for those that half the school--and all of his friends--bore. "People aren't gonna buy it after today." 

"We can start after school, if Max doesn't have to work," she answered promptly. "We have all Christmas vacation to work on it if we need to. Don't worry; we'll get it off." 

"You don't think you'll need that long to fix it, do you?" Alex asked her. 

"I hope not. I've got too many other things to do to get ready for Christmas. I'm starting late as it is." 

Michael rolled his eyes. He'd seen this too many times before. "Clear out while you can," he advised Alex. "Isabel on her annual Christmas rampage? Not a pretty sight." 

Isabel fixed her gaze on him, but he refused to back down. They'd had this argument too many times before, too. He'd never given in, and he wasn't about to now. 

"And what about you, Michael?" she said. "Since you actually have some money this year, not to mention a girlfriend, don't you think it would behoove you to put some time into a little Christmas shopping?" 

Leaning forward, Michael looked her straight in the eye. "First of all, nothing 'behooves' me to do anything. And second, you know I don't do Christmas, so don't push me, Iz." 

"You don't do Christmas?" repeated a shocked voice. He looked up; Maria and Liz stood there, lunches in hand. Maria looked absolutely horrified. 

"No," he said shortly. Great. He should have known this would come up. 

"What are you, like Jewish? Can Czechoslovakians even be Jewish?" she asked. 

"I'm not anything," he said, then corrected himself as she opened her mouth to speak again. "I don't have a religion." 

Maria frowned, but she didn't push it any further, to his relief. Instead, she took a seat beside him and addressed herself to unpacking her lunch. A moment later, Max joined them and sat opposite Liz. 

"So, any of you see Kyle Valenti today?" Alex asked, changing the subject. Several smiles appeared. "I tell you, it's the best thing about this whole week," he chuckled. 

"Alex--" Liz began, warning audible in her voice. 

"No, really, he makes a really pretty girl." 

"Glad you approve, Whitman," Kyle said dryly from behind him. Silently Michael took in the view. He'd seen several of the cheerleaders dressed in basketball uniforms, and a couple of players in drag in the hallway, but this was the first time he'd seen Kyle. 

The jock wore a cheerleading uniform--that couldn't possibly be a real one, could it? Michael didn't remember ever seeing a cheerleader built like Kyle--with a red wig vaguely reminiscent of Laura Lindos, the head cheerleader. Kyle's face was made up carefully, but Alex was wrong about him. He wasn't at all pretty, especially wearing his current expression. Michael's fingers suddenly itched for a pencil and a drawing pad. 

Being caught out didn't seem to bother the irrepressible Alex Whitman one bit. He turned in his chair, gave the jock the once over, and grinned. "Nice knees, Ms. Valenti," he commented. 

Michael couldn't help it--he began to chuckle. His fellow lunchmates stopped staring at Kyle and turned to stare at him. Well, he guessed the sight of him laughing was just as astonishing as Kyle's getup, but their expressions only made him laugh harder. 

"You owe me for this, Guerin," Kyle said pointedly. 

"Hey, I didn't ask you to do any of it," Michael shot back. "Don't blame me 'cause you're wearing a dress." 

"I don't care. You owe me," Kyle insisted. "Basketball practice. 4:00." 

Shaking his head, Michael said, "Not gonna happen. Besides, what makes you think I wouldn't suck, anyway?" 

"Have you seen who we've got playing this year? I'm telling you, I'm desperate, man." 

Michael couldn't deny that, in his current getup, Kyle certainly looked it. But there was no way he was going to try out for the basketball team, and he said so. "I like to keep a low profile, okay? If people don't see me, then they won't start to wonder about me," he explained. "And I'm not gonna jeopardize that for a stupid basketball team. Nothing could make me do it." 

Kyle's eyes narrowed. "Nothing? _Nothing_ could make you do it?" He glanced around the table, then turned back to Michael and challenged, "What if Maria asked you to?" 

Opening his mouth to reply in the negative, Michael suddenly remembered that Maria was watching. The word froze on his lips, and he closed his mouth. The Michael of a year ago would've barged right ahead and said it, but he'd learned some stuff since then. And he didn't want to mess up the progress he'd made with Maria last night. Especially since he wasn't the only guy who'd been watching her parade around in her skin-tight clothing all week. 

So instead of answering, he tried to worm his way around the question. He said, quite truthfully, "She wouldn't ask me to." 

"But what if she did? What if she begged you to?" Kyle pressed. 

Michael stopped and actually gave it some thought. He was pretty sure Maria would never give a rat's ass if he was on some sports team or not; she wasn't one of those brainless jock-groupie bimbos. But if she did care, if she really wanted him to, would he do it? He thought back over their tumultuous history. There were other things he hadn't wanted to do, but he did them for her. He'd let Alex talk him into building the plant puppets for Maria's play, just so he could be near enough to protect her. It hadn't been so bad--it even became a kind of artistic challenge--but he hadn't _wanted_ to do it. And even earlier than that, he'd been perfectly happy with the whole Eraser Room/apartment make-out scenario, but she'd wanted a real date with a real boyfriend, so he'd tried to give it to her. Sure, he'd failed spectacularly, but he'd wanted her to be happy. And that was what he still wanted. Well, happy and safe. 

He glanced over at her. Her eyes were now focused down on her lunch, the corners of her mouth drooping just slightly. She didn't say anything. But she certainly didn't look happy. 

And he wanted her to be. Maybe it was time she knew that. Even if it meant showing himself as a complete wuss. Crap. 

He looked Kyle straight in the eye. "She wouldn't care about it," he said slowly. "If she did, I'd try to talk her out of it, but if she really wanted it...yeah, I guess...I guess I'd do it." 

There was silence at the table, and he took a very self-conscious bite of what the cafeteria _said_ was a burger. Why didn't they all quit staring at him? It was making him very uncomfortable. He kept his gaze from Maria and fought the urge to bolt. 

Then Kyle seemed to shake off his shock. His eyes darted to Maria. "Maria--" he started eagerly. 

"Michael's right. I don't care if he plays basketball or not. So I'm not going to ask him to," she said, but her voice sounded odd to Michael. He looked down at her, trying to read her expression, but failed miserably. 

"You could always make it the consequence of your winning that bet, Maria," Alex piped up. 

"But I'm not going to win," she answered quite seriously. "Michael is." 

The knowledge of her faith in him, at least in this respect, warmed Michael's heart. Relaxing, he reached over and grabbed a carrot stick from the baggie of cut vegetables she'd packed in her lunch. Not that he really wanted it, but somehow it felt like the right thing to do. 

"Hey!" she scolded, giving him a playful slap on the hand. "Give me that!" 

Shaking his head, he took a bite. Yep, that's why he didn't particularly like carrots. Decent crunch, but bland as hell. Maybe he could improve it if he had some cream cheese frosting and hot sauce to zip it up a little. Absently he took another bite. It sure needed _something_. 

"Well, crap. What good is doing you a favor if I don't get paid back?" Kyle said petulantly. 

Michael wasn't the least bit swayed. "Sucks, doesn't it?" 

"You're not kidding. Well, it was worth a shot." Kyle shrugged, then started to move away. "Of course," he added over his shoulder, "if you change your mind...." 

Michael was quite definite. "Not gonna happen, Valenti."  
  
  
*****  


Max was busily straightening out a display case full of supposed 1947 crash fragments when someone halted right in front of him. He looked up in surprise. 

"I'm on a break," Maria said point-blank, answering his unasked question. He'd guessed as much from the waitress uniform she wore. She'd thrown her coat over it sloppily, not bothering to button it up for the quick dash across the street from the Crashdown to the UFO Center. 

"What's on your mind?" Max asked. 

"Two things," she admitted. "First is a favor." She looked around, then lowered her voice to try and keep several Friday afternoon tourists from overhearing. "Now that my mom knows about you all, I was wondering...well, she's stuck in a cast for at least another month, and it's hard for her to do things. Everyone's been really great about helping her out in the shop, but I know it's still hurting, and she's got a lot going on right now. So I was wondering if you could do your magic voodoo thing and fix her up." 

It certainly wouldn't be difficult to heal Mrs. DeLuca's arm, especially since it had already been set. He'd just need to repair the break. But the real question was whether or not she'd want it done. It was one thing to know aliens existed, and another to actually allow one to use his powers on you. Liz and Kyle hadn't had a choice--he'd healed each of them without getting their permission first, to save their lives. And when he'd healed Maria's broken ankle earlier that fall, it had been long after she'd accepted what his small family was. Mrs. DeLuca, on the other hand, had only had a short time to get used to the idea. A week. Had it only been a week? It seemed much longer. She might not feel comfortable with it. Although she evidently hadn't forbidden Maria to stay friends with the hybrids...it made him wonder what it would be like if his parents found out. But they couldn't risk it, no matter how badly Isabel wanted to tell them-- 

"Max?" 

Oops. He'd gotten lost in thought, almost forgetting she was there. "Does your mother know you're asking?" 

Maria shook her head. "No. She's taking it pretty well, but she's still not used to the whole Czech thing." 

Just what he'd been thinking. Taking one last look at the display case before closing it, Max said, "Ask her about it. If she's all right with it, I'd be happy to help, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable." 

"Okay. I'll call her and see." 

"The UFO Center closes at 7:00. I could stop by the Crashdown afterwards and see what she says," he offered. Plus, he was pretty certain Liz was working the evening shift, too. He could say hi, and maybe talk to her on a break. 

"Thanks," Maria said with a smile. He suspected she wasn't fooled. Then again, unlike another alien-human hybrid, he didn't try to hide what he was feeling. 

"Sure. Now what was the other thing on your mind?" 

The smile faded from Maria's face. "Does Michael really not do Christmas?" she asked. 

"Yes. He doesn't." 

"I don't get it. I mean, I know he worked all day on Thanksgiving, but how can _anyone_ bail on Christmas? Christmas is...well, it's _Christmas!_" 

Carefully, Max said, "He doesn't really believe in it, Maria." 

She gave an almost imperceptible sigh. "I guess it shouldn't surprise me. He hasn't been given much reason to believe in anything, has he." It wasn't a question. 

"Not really," Max admitted. 

She cocked her head to one side and studied him. "What about you and Isabel?" 

"Oh, we do Christmas." Max found himself smiling wryly. "Isabel does a little too much Christmas, I think. She's obsessed with it being perfect, having everything just right." 

"And she hasn't managed to drag Michael along with her?" 

"Not so far." 

"Figures," she muttered. He could almost see her mind working. "Well, okay, I get the whole avoidance of religion part, but what about the commercial side of things? What about...what about presents?" 

Uh-oh. "Maria, I don't think--" Max began. She cut him off. 

"Not for me, silly. For Michael. What do you do about Michael's Christmas present?" 

"We don't give him one," he said, and enjoyed her aghast expression for a minute before relenting and explaining, "We each give him a present, Maria, just not on Christmas. We have to find an excuse each year, that's all." 

She looked relieved. "Oh, okay." 

Michael must have done something right, if Maria had gotten over her case of the mads enough to be worrying about giving him a Christmas present, Max thought. But it made sense that she'd be asking about it. If he was remembering correctly, Michael and Maria hadn't been together last Christmas, so the whole issue of presents wouldn't have come up. Ditto for Valentine's Day. And as for...Uh-oh again. It was a ways off, but Max thought he'd better warn her. "Maria? He doesn't do birthdays, either." 

"What?" she exclaimed. "Okay, that's just enough. I can see how he might skip the birth celebration of someone he doesn't even believe in, but his own? That's ridiculous!" 

Max couldn't help but smile a bit at her indignation. "Well, technically we weren't born. At least not in the usual way of things," he pointed out. 

"But does that keep you and Isabel from celebrating your birthday?" 

"Birthdays. Our parents wanted each of us to have our own day." 

"Well, then, why doesn't he?" 

"Well, legally, he does have one. Social Services assigned it to him. But all it ever meant to him was the date when the state foster support would stop and he'd be able to get out from Hank." He paused, then added, "Which didn't even matter, really, once...once he was emancipated." He wasn't sure she knew that Hank was dead, but he wasn't going to bring it up. 

"When is it?" 

"What, Michael's birthday?" She nodded, and Max said, "Not for a while--August thirteenth. But it doesn't matter to him, Maria." 

"You mean he won't _let_ it matter," she corrected him. "Well, that's just too bad. If he thinks he can get away with not letting us celebrate his existence, if not his birth, he is woefully mistaken!" she said passionately. "And he has eight whole months to get used to the idea." 

Max smiled at her. Something told him that, in eight months or so, Michael Guerin would be celebrating his birthday whether he liked it or not.  
  
  
*****  


Isabel sat on her bed, feverishly writing in her planner. She could hardly believe that she'd put off preparations for Christmas this long. Of course, in other years, she hadn't had to deal with her almost-brother's abduction, and she knew her mother would have at least the basics for the family Christmas well in hand. Still, she really should have gotten started on this long before Thanksgiving. 

When the knock came on the window, she didn't even have to look up to know who was there. Although he usually visited Max's room instead of hers, there was only one person she knew who habitually used windows instead of doors. 

"Come on in, Michael," she called, trying to decide how many hours she could give to the annual West Roswell High Boosters Christmas gift-wrapping fundraiser. "It's open." 

The window slid up and Michael climbed through, landing with a light thud on the carpet. For once, he actually remembered to shut the window behind him and close out the cool December air before she had to remind him. 

He didn't waste any time with greetings. "Where's Max?" he asked. 

"At work, I think." 

Michael shook his head. "I went by the UFO Center. It's closed and he's not there." 

"He did call and say he wouldn't be here for dinner. Maybe he ate at the Crashdown with Liz." 

"Oh." He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stood, looking fairly uncomfortable. 

Recapping her pen, Isabel stuck it in her planner to mark her place. "What's wrong, Michael?" 

"What? Nothing. Nothing's wrong," he said. She gave him a pointed look, and he unbent enough to explain. "Really. Nothing's wrong, exactly. I just...I just feel antsy, that's all. Thought if Max was here the three of us could work on my powers, or getting the stupid mark off my face. Or something." 

She wasn't buying it. "Is it Maria?" 

"No," he said, but if he weren't Michael, she would have described his expression as embarrassed. 

"Michael, you can tell me. Maybe I can help." 

"I had enough of your help the other day, Iz. Your plan is impossible." 

"I knew some of it--most of it--would be a stretch for you, Michael, and I did tell you you weren't going to like it, but if you want to fix your relationship with Maria, you're going to have to--" 

He interrupted her. "Uh...actually, we kind of have a date. Next week. Me and Maria." 

"How on earth did you manage that?" she asked, startled. 

"Honestly? I have no idea." 

She smiled at him. "That's great, Michael. My offer's still open if you want me to help you pick out a new outfit--" 

"Uh-uh. We're just going to catch a movie. It's no big deal." He didn't exactly sound convinced, though. 

"Well, let me know if I can help." 

He nodded once, then let his gaze wander idly over the room. 

"If you like, I could give your cheek another try," she offered. 

"It's okay. I can wait for Max," Michael said. "It might take all three of us to figure it out." He remained standing, an immovable lump in the middle of the room. 

Isabel sighed. "Look, if you're going to wait for Max, at least do something productive," she ordered. Crossing to her desk, she pulled out a pencil and a spiral notebook and thrust them towards him. "Here." 

"What'm I s'posed to do with this?" 

Shoving the school supplies at him, she threw her hands into the air. "Who knows? Make a grocery list. Write the great American novel. I don't care what, just amuse yourself until Max gets here. I have work to do." 

Michael didn't move. "Or if you prefer, you can read. I have a whole stack of fashion magazines," she threatened. 

"No, this is good," he said hastily. She kept an eagle eye on him as he sat at her desk. He hesitated for a moment, then applied pencil to paper. Relieved, she went back to her Christmas checklist. Now who could she get for the living Nativity?  
  
  



	43. Chapter 43

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 43**_

By the time Max returned home, Michael had covered and ripped out half the pages of the spiral notebook. Most were filled with quick slap-dash sketches, but he'd also taken advantage of Isabel's presence and done a fairly detailed drawing of her as she sat on her bed making plans for Christmas. He wasn't entirely happy with it--the blue lines running across the page were distracting, for one thing--but it wasn't horrible. 

When he finished it, he gave in to her repeated demands and let her see it. He wasn't expecting much, since neither she nor Max had been that encouraging when he'd started drawing what turned out to be James Atherton's geodesic dome, and since he wasn't all that satisfied with it in the first place. So he was surprised and pleased when her mouth dropped open with a soft, "Oh." 

"Michael, this is great." 

"It's not that good," he pointed out. "The mouth isn't right, and I couldn't really get your mood." 

"Well, I think it's wonderful," she said rather decidedly. "Can I keep it?" 

"Uh...if you really want to, I guess so." 

She gave him a pleased smile. "I can't wait to show everyone," she said, still studying the sketch. "When did you get this good?" 

"I don't know. And don't make a big deal about it, okay?" 

"Why not?" 

"'Cause I know how you get," he said without thinking. 

This got her attention away from the page in her hand. "And what is that supposed to mean?" 

Uh-oh. Mistake. Michael turned around and slouched down in the desk chair. "Nothing," he muttered. "Forget it." He should have just kept his mouth shut. 

A knock on the door saved him from any further argument. Max. Thank god. "Come in," called Isabel. The door swung open. But instead of Max, like Michael had expected, it was someone quite different. 

"Isabel, sweetie, I--" Mrs. Evans began, then halted as she saw Michael. "Oh. Michael." 

"Hey," he said uncomfortably, twisting the pencil between his fingers. 

"Do you need something, Mom?" Isabel asked, not seeming the least bit bothered by the intrusion. Michael slumped even further into the chair and tried to look invisible. 

"It can wait until later," Mrs. Evans said. She hesitated in the doorway. Michael avoided looking at her by staring down at the pile of pages on the desk, but he could practically feel her gaze cut into his back. Then she seemed to change her mind. "Actually, I do need to talk to you for a minute, Isabel." 

"Sure, Mom." 

"Outside, please." 

Isabel gracefully unfolded herself from the bed. "I'll be back in a minute," she said to Michael before following her mother into the hallway. 

Michael wasn't _trying_ to eavesdrop, but the door was open and Isabel wasn't making the slightest effort to keep her voice down like Mrs. Evans was. "He's waiting for Max," he heard her say. Her mother murmured something else, and Isabel began to chuckle. "Mom, it's _Michael._ He's harmless," she laughed. Michael frowned. What the hell did that mean? Isabel knew very well that he was _far_ from harmless. Especially now that he was getting some measure of control over his powers. If he wanted to, he could do real damage. 

He was only partially mollified when she continued, "Besides, he's got a girlfriend." Oh. _That_ kind of harmless. He'd though she'd meant--Hey! 

There was another murmur from her mother, than an "Okay, okay," from Isabel. A moment later she was back in her bedroom. 

"I'm not supposed to have boys in my room with the door shut," she announced as she sat back down on the bed and picked her planner back up. "As if you were any kind of threat," she added. 

"Hey," Michael objected, audibly this time. Sure, he wasn't a threat to Isabel--she was like a sister--but she didn't have to say so, did she? 

"Oh, please," she said. "I don't care what happened in our previous lives; things are different now. Even if you weren't head over heels for Maria, you wouldn't be after me. Not unless Tess put another mind whammy on us." 

He was _not_ 'head over heels' about Maria, for one thing. Yeah, he loved her, he'd even admitted it to Izzy, but she made it sound like he was whipped or something. And even though she had a point about their lack-of-anything-but-sibling relationship, still...Michael ostentatiously turned his back on her, picked up the pencil and began to cover the next page with dark pencil strokes. The point broke. He sighed and wished Max would just show up already. 

And for once, his wish came true. "Mom said we had company," Max said from the doorway. 

"Where've you been?" Michael demanded. If Max had been drooling over Liz Parker again while he'd been stuck here putting up with Isabel's insults... 

"At Maria's." 

Immediately Michael's annoyance was forgotten. He bolted upright. "Why? What happened?" 

"Nothing, she's fine," his friend hastened to assure him. 

"Then why the hell were you there?" 

"Maria asked me to fix her mother's broken arm," Max explained patiently. At this news, Michael felt a mix of emotions: relief that there was nothing more to it, jumbled together with annoyance because he couldn't have done it, even if Maria had asked him to. Max could; and now that Mrs. DeLuca was in the know, it made sense that Maria would ask him. No reason to be jealous of his best friend, not for that. But Michael's mood was not improved when Max continued, "And then Mrs. DeLuca kept me for a while to grill me about you." 

Michael tensed. He'd known the talk he'd had with Maria's mother earlier that week had gone too well. "Why? What'd you say?" 

"Nothing, nothing. I was just kidding, Michael." 

He gritted his teeth. "Not funny, Maxwell." 

"Come on, you two," Isabel admonished. "If you're going to squabble, please do it someplace else. I've got tons to do." 

"Whatever," Michael muttered, backing down. 

"What's up, Michael?" Max asked, cutting to the chase. 

"Nothing." The look on Max's face said he wasn't buying that. "Well, Iz said we could try to get this stupid brand off my face if you were home, but you had to work, so I was just kinda waiting for you to get here." 

"Sure. We can work on that now, if you'd like," Max offered. 

Michael nodded brusquely. He needed their help, he knew it. But he didn't have to _like_ being dependent on them yet again. He'd gotten a taste of handling things on his own with Bob, and he didn't relish falling back into his old scapegrace role. He wanted an equal shot at making things work, instead of always causing problems and waiting for Max to clean up after him. 

Except this time, there was nothing he could do about it, not by himself. Picking up the pencil, he began to fidget restlessly with it. 

"He's been like that all evening," Isabel complained. Sensing the concern in their eyes, Michael dropped the pencil on Isabel's desk and tried to appear more at ease. 

"It's just...Nothing's wrong, really," he admitted, trying to reason out what was bothering him. It must be more than just having to ask for their help again. "I don't have anything I have to do. No school for a while, no job. I've got all that cash, so I don't have to find another job right away. No...no big quest to find out who we are and what we're doing here--that's a dead end." He shook his head in frustration. "I don't know. I feel kind of at loose ends, I guess." 

"You were never one for a lot of structure in the first place," Isabel reminded him. 

"I know. But it's always been there. Even when it sucked or I blew it off..." Michael trailed off. "I don't know," he finally repeated. 

"Actually, I'm glad you're here," Max said, pushing himself away from the doorway he'd been leaning against. "I'm not so certain our quest, as you put it, is a dead end. We can't know that, not for sure; there are too many unanswered questions." 

"Like what?" Michael asked halfheartedly. He'd known Max would end up reacting like this, trying to make something out of nothing. 

"Like the book. I've been trying to decipher the pages we got from Nasedo's room, but I haven't had any luck. Maybe one of you will." 

"We'd better do it in your room," Isabel said. Michael noticed that she dropped her beloved Christmas preparations instantly. Come what may, Iz was one of them. She smiled knowingly and added, "I'm not supposed to be entertaining boys in mine." 

"So I hear," said Max, leading the way down the hall to his room, where he shut the door safely behind them. "But then again, Mom has no idea of how much time Michael actually spends over here." 

That was true. Michael had perfected his window-entry mode for just that reason. Late night visits to Isabel's room aside, Mr. & Mrs. Evans had always been pleasant to Michael. It wasn't that he disliked them; but as lucky as he thought Max and Isabel were to have landed such a family, he'd always found the almost naive perfection of their family dynamics to be unnerving. So any time he could escape their notice, he did. By now it was reflex. 

Dropping the pile of sketches on Max's desk, Michael swung the chair around to straddle it. "So Maria was fine?" he asked. He didn't doubt what Max had said earlier, he was just...making sure. 

"She was," said Max as he hung up his leather jacket. Michael suppressed a snort at the careful row of unwrinkled garments on hangers that filled the closet. As always, Max's room was neat and organized, with everything in its own place. Not that Michael's own apartment was much more cluttered, but that was only because he had fewer possessions. He would certainly never have Max's natural aptitude for order. Luckily, he didn't want it. 

Actually, with the windfall from the sale of Bob's car, he could do some pretty serious cluttering if he chose to, but a life of hiding had taught him that the less he had, the easier it would be to pack up and move out when it got too dangerous to stay. Sparseness was ingrained in him now. So much as part of him might prefer disorder, he wasn't likely to relax enough to let himself live in it. 

Maybe that was one reason he'd fallen so hard for Maria and the vibrant chaos that she embraced. He envied that in her, but he wasn't capable of it. It had a different feel to it: warmth and color so unlike his own drab, narrowly-focused worldview. He vaguely wondered for the zillionth time how different things might be if he hadn't been an alien-human hybrid, if he'd had a so-called 'normal' life. For one thing, he'd probably skip right past cluttered, through chaotic and land straight in hopelessly messy. Max, on the other hand, would probably be just as orderly as-- 

Suddenly realizing that Max was staring at him, Michael pulled himself back to the present. They'd been talking about...what? Oh yeah--Maria. Maria, who was fine. "Good," he said, pretending he hadn't zoned out for a moment. 

Isabel spoke up from her perch on Max's bed. "Speaking of Maria, guess who has a date with her?" she asked, her tone light. 

Max took the time to study him for a moment before replying dryly, "Well, considering that Michael's head hasn't exploded, I'm guessing it's not anyone else." 

"Funny," Michael shot out, not particularly amused. 

Max dropped the teasing tone. "Really, that's great, Michael." 

"It's no big deal," Michael lied, then changed the subject. Even a dead-end quest was more comfortable than dragging his feelings for Maria out for discussion. "So we gonna get a look at the pages or what?" 

Waving a hand over one of the desk drawers, Max pulled out the metal sheets and handed them to his sister. "Iz, you take a crack at them while I work on Michael," he instructed. 

She shot him an amused look but didn't question his taking charge. "Just let me know if you need my help," she said, then began to peruse the first page. 

Meanwhile, Max was studying the mark on Michael's cheek. "So how are you gonna do this?" Michael asked. 

"I'm not certain," Max said. "It's not a simple case of healing; we figured that out at the motel." 

"Or molecular manipulation," put in Isabel as she examined the metal pages. "I couldn't get it off that way either, remember?" 

"Great," Michael muttered. "So what the hell _can_ we do about it?" 

"I think the place to start is to try a full scan," Max decided, "to see if we can figure out what's causing it." 

Michael hesitated, then began, "Max..." 

"What? I've scanned you before, remember? I should be able to tell if something's wrong." 

"It's not that, it's just..." Oh, hell. "You might run into some stuff if the connection gets too close." 

"What stuff?" 

Feeling rather like an interrogation subject in an old prison movie, Michael tried to explain. "One of the things Bob used the mark for was to...kind of tear down this wall in my head. When they cloned us or whatever, they kind of fucked with me. Inside that wall, it's kind of...well, volatile, I guess." 

"Volatile?" 

"Yeah, the bloodthirsty violent 'let's kill your best friend' part of me, okay? When we were done with Bob, I kind of...shoved all that stuff back behind the wall. But it's there, and I don't think you want to let it out." 

There was silence for a moment as the siblings looked at him. He didn't want to talk about it, and the explanation he'd given them was fairly simplistic, but they had needed to know before they went monkeying around in his twisted psyche. He didn't feel like having to wrestle the hidden rage back into submission. Finally Max said, "I'll be careful." 

Michael hesitated before acquiescing. "Just be prepared to see yourself in a bloody heap," he cautioned. "'Cause I got a whole bunch of pretty pictures of that floating around in there too." 

"Thanks for the warning," Max said before staunchly reaching out to form the connection.  
  
  
*****  


All in all, it was a rather depressing evening. Michael's so-called violent side was still under wraps, but try as he might, Max couldn't find the reason for the mark's imperviousness. Michael was starting to get a horrible feeling that it was going to be permanent. 

And they'd had no luck on the alien-symbol decoding front, either. The symbols meant nothing to any of them. Michael was pretty sure that some of them were the same as in the alien book, which lent credence to the idea that they were language rather than random, abstract symbols, but none of them knew what the symbols meant. And Michael hadn't been able to get a single flash from the metal. 

"This is hopeless," he complained as he hunched over the back of the desk chair, his arms folded across the top. "A stupid, pointless, fucking waste of time." 

"We'll figure it out, Michael." 

Pushing himself off of the chair, Michael snapped, "Don't try to patronize me, Max. I'm not a little kid. I don't need to be lied to." 

"He's not lying." 

"Yeah? And my last name's Jordan." 

As always, Max maintained a maddening calm. "Tess has the book," he said. "We'll get it tomorrow and compare the pages. Maybe that will help us understand them." 

"What's the point?" 

"The point is that you're ready to give up, just because you think something's impossible," Max said. "Well, some people think alien-human hybrids are impossible, but here we are." 

"And you yourself would have said that falling in love was impossible, just a year ago," Isabel pointed out. "Time has proven that to be a mistaken assumption, hasn't it?" 

"It's not the same thing." But there they were, both looking at him like he was the whole reason they were trying to figure this out in the first place. And that was a load of bull. They had as much invested in it as he did. Hell, Max had more. And if Max wasn't giving up on the save-the-planet mission, he also wasn't going to give up until Michael gave in. No matter how begrudgingly he accepted it. Suddenly Michael was tired of fighting. 

"Fine," he said sourly. "I'll go along with this whole stupid scheme. I'll even keep my mouth shut about it being a complete waste of time. But I'm not gonna be all sunshine and puppy dogs about it." 

Isabel's eyes danced. "We would never expect that of you, I promise." 

"Yeah, fine. Okay. I'm leaving now before you start spouting off about hope and shit." He headed for Max's window, but Isabel's voice stopped him. 

"Don't forget your drawings," she said, pointing to the pile of notebook paper he'd abandoned on Max's desk. 

Oh, yeah. He had forgotten them. They weren't really good, anyway, mostly quick pencil sketches of various people he'd seen around town. The only half-decent one had been the one of Isabel. But he didn't feel like getting into a discussion about them. He'd just take them home and throw them in a crate with his others. Hopefully that would keep Isabel off his back. 

But before he could cross to the desk, Max picked up the pile and started to hand the pages over. Michael tensed as Max's attention was caught by the top sketch. 

"Can I look at these?" Max asked. 

"I guess." Michael was about to explain that they were just sketches--doodles really--but nothing serious, when Isabel interrupted. 

"You should see the one of me. It's great." 

Max nodded as he shuffled through the pages, commenting on a few. Michael's portrait of Kyle in his cheerleading costume from earlier in the day elicited a chuckle, and a caricature of Vice Principal Sutter as a prison guard earned a full-on laugh. 

About two-thirds of the way through the pile, Max stopped. "Who is this? I know I've seen him before, but I don't know him." 

"Who?" asked Isabel. 

"Him," her brother responded, handing her the page. "He came into the Crashdown while I was waiting for Maria, but I didn't recognize him." 

"I don't know him either," said Isabel, holding the paper out to Michael. "Who is he, Michael?" 

Michael glanced down at the page and felt his stomach clench. The sketch in his hand depicted the peeping tom, the guy who'd been peering into the DeLucas' window just two days ago.  
  
  



	44. Chapter 44

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 44**_

"He was at the Crashdown tonight?" Michael blurted, holding up the drawing. "This guy here?" 

"I think so," answered a startled Max. "He wasn't wearing the sunglasses, but it looked like him. Who is he?" 

Michael's mind was busy trying to figure out the chances of the guy still being at the restaurant. He had a strong urge to find him and pound some information out of him, but he swallowed it. His innate loathing of violence aside, it had been several hours since Max got home, plus however long he'd been at Maria's, healing her mother's arm. The guy, whoever he was, would be long gone. What had he been doing at the Crashdown, anyway? A tourist might stop in for a bite--the kitschy theme seemed to appeal to them for some reason. But a normal tourist wouldn't have been lurking around the DeLucas' house, so Michael doubted he'd just gone to the Crashdown for a Galaxy Melt. The common denominator was Maria. Had the guy been there to find her? 

"Did Maria see him?" he asked. 

"I doubt it. He came in while she was changing, and we left through the back. Why?" 

"It might be nothing," Michael said, trying to get a grip on his churning emotions. "I promised I'd drop it, but if he's still hanging around--" 

Isabel sounded exasperated. "Who?" 

Michael quickly explained where he'd seen the man before, and how Maria had reacted when he'd told her and Alex about it. "So I promised to forget it," he finished up. "Which was a pretty damn stupid thing to do." Folding the sketch, he shoved it into his pocket and headed for the window. 

"Where are you going?" Isabel demanded. "To try and find him?" 

"The Crashdown closed hours ago. He won't be there, Michael," Max put in. 

"I know that. Besides, I promised I wouldn't go after him." 

"Then what are you going to do?" 

Michael gave Isabel a scathing glance. Wasn't it obvious? "Talk to Maria."  
  
  
*****  


When he arrived at the DeLucas' house, he automatically started for Maria's window. There was still a light on, even though it was pretty late. But before he could cross the small courtyard, he changed his mind. 

A minute later, he was knocking on the kitchen door. He waited tensely until the light flickered on inside and Mrs. DeLuca came to the door. 

"Michael?" she said in some surprise. "It's late." 

Even if he hadn't already known that, the bathrobe and slippers she wore would have been a good hint. She looked tired, too. Max's healing her arm shouldn't have wiped her out--something else was going on. Was it related to the peeping tom? Suddenly he was even more determined to get to the bottom of things. "Yeah, I know. I need to talk to Maria. It's important." 

"It's not another alien, is it?" 

"No," Michael hastened to reassure her. "Nothing to do with that." 

She accepted this with a relieved breath. "Oh, good. But I'm not sure she's still up." 

"Light's on in her room." 

She fixed her eyes on him. "So why didn't you knock on her window? That's how you got in the time I found you in her bed, isn't it?" 

Michael, to his horror, could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. He'd never stopped to consider what Maria had told her mother about that night. Too much had been going on at the time to worry about what some human woman thought. Nothing had happened anyway. At least nothing like Mrs. DeLuca was thinking. For the first time, he'd let out all of his closely-hidden emotions in front of someone else. For one short night, he wasn't lost, and his hurt and anger didn't seem as overwhelming. Maria had made him feel like he belonged. And that had been far more frightening that what Mrs. DeLuca feared. "Uh...yeah. It is." 

"Then why not this time?" 

Surprisingly, she didn't look angry, just like she really wanted to know. Problem was, _he_ didn't really know. The window would have been easier, there was no doubt. He could have bypassed all this questioning and gotten straight to getting some answers of his own. But it had seemed like this was the right thing to do. 

And the fact that he was even considering what was right or wrong to do kind of freaked him out. 

Enough of that. "It's important," he repeated, not really answering her question. 

Someone spoke from the hall. "I heard voices. Mom, who--" Entering the kitchen, Maria stopped in the doorway. "Oh. Michael," she said, sounding oddly relieved. Then her forehead wrinkled and she looked a little more suspicious. "Why are you here?" 

"I need to talk to you." 

"Oh. Okay," she said without hesitation, not seeming the least bit startled that he had shown up on her doorstep wanting to talk. "What's going on?" 

Before he could even begin to open his mouth, Mrs. DeLuca spoke up. "I'll leave you two to talk. But Maria--don't be too long. It's late." 

"I won't." 

"Goodnight, Michael." And with that, Mrs. DeLuca swept out of the room. Part of him, still stung by Mrs. Evans' implied accusation earlier that evening, was surprised. 

"So what's going on?" Maria asked, sitting at the kitchen table. Michael had a sudden unpleasant image of tying her to that very chair, under Bob's command, but he shook off the memory and took the seat across from her. He sat for a moment, then shucked off his jacket and tossed it across the back of the chair next to him. 

His delay didn't escape her attention. "I don't think you came around at this time of night just to sit in our kitchen and chat, so what's going on, Michael?" Maria demanded. She sounded cranky. Michael had a feeling she was going to sound crankier before long. 

"It's about the guy I saw looking in your windows the other day," he said, getting straight to the point. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "I know, I promised to drop it. And I did. No following him, no trying to figure out what he was doing at your house." 

If he hadn't been watching her carefully, he might have missed the way her shoulders relaxed at that piece of news. Certainly it wasn't reflected in her voice. "And you came over to tell me that? Congratulations, Michael, you kept a promise. Are you expecting some sort of prize or something?" 

"What? No!" he burst out. "What the hell's wrong with you, Maria?" 

"Nothing, except I don't know what you're doing here." 

She was tired. She wasn't mad at him, she was just tired. He'd make an unaccustomed effort and ignore it. Or at least he'd try. Gritting his teeth, he hissed, "Look, I came to tell you to be careful. The guy's still around. Max said he was at the Crashdown tonight." 

Some of the color went out of her cheeks. "Lots of people go to the Crashdown. It probably wasn't even the same man," she said. 

Was she trying to convince him or herself? With an exasperated growl, Michael pulled out the sketch from his pocket, unfolded it, and slammed it down onto the table. 

"It was the same man. This man," he said, jabbing a finger at the piece of notebook paper. "He came into the Crashdown while Max was waiting for you." 

Maria looked down at the page, her face expressionless, then looked back up at Michael. "So?" she said evenly. 

"So what the hell am I supposed to do, Maria?" he snapped. "Something's wrong about the guy, and you're ignoring it. So am I just supposed to ignore it too, and watch you wind up getting hurt? Or am I supposed to break my promise and piss you off and maybe wreck what's left of our relationship? You tell me. Tell me what I'm supposed to do!" He stared at her, eyes blazing; then, deflating, he propped his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. 

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Feel better now?" 

"No," he said sourly. He didn't feel better. He felt frustrated. 

Finally, she said, "You used the word 'relationship', Michael." 

He lifted his head. "So? I thought we were trying to have one. But then again, what do I know about anything?" Back his head went into his hands. 

"He's my uncle." 

"Huh?" 

"The man in the drawing. He's my uncle. You know, my mother's brother?" 

Michael looked up again. Why had she suddenly made a U-turn and told him? And if all this was about her uncle, what was the big deal? 

"You mean your--" He racked his brain for the name. "--your Uncle Teddy?" 

"How did you know his name?" she asked, stiffening. 

"Your mother." 

She stilled. "You talked to my mom about him?" 

"Yeah." 

"So much for keeping promises, huh?" 

"What? I didn't know he was the peeping tom," Michael sputtered. "And besides, this was before that, when I was...it was a while ago." 

"Uh-huh. And you just happened to be talking about my uncle?" 

He closed his eyes. How had this gotten all turned around? He'd come over to warn her to be careful and to get some questions answered. Why was he suddenly on the wrong end of the microscope? "Look, it was back when I found out I'd had a sister before. I just...I wanted to know what it was like, okay?" 

Understanding dawned on her face. "And you didn't want to ask Max or Isabel, and you couldn't ask me or Liz or Alex 'cause we're all only children." 

He nodded, meeting her eyes. 

"Did it help?" 

"Not really." It had made the sister-shaped hole in his heart seem even bigger, but he wasn't going to tell Maria that. Somehow, he suspected, she knew anyway. 

"I heard about your sister," she said, her voice soft. "About the earthquake, and how she died." How he'd killed her, she meant, but was too nice to say it. "Isabel told us." 

Oh. Well, that was great. Why did everyone always have to know his personal business? He should have expected it, though. 

"I wanted to tell you, but it never seemed to be the right time," Maria continued. "I mean, I didn't think you'd want to bring it out for discussion in the middle of the cafeteria, you know?" 

She was right about that. He didn't even like to think about it, much less to have everyone else's sympathetic reaction batter against his emotional shields. He wasn't really ready to talk about it with Maria, either. He wasn't sure he would ever be. 

"I'm not here about that," he said gruffly. "We were talking about _your_ relative, remember?" 

"Oh. I was kind of hoping you'd forgotten that," Maria admitted. "Well, yeah, he's my uncle." 

Michael waited a minute. "Yeah, and...?" 

"And what?" 

What did she mean, 'And what?' Was she determined to drive him insane, because she was doing a good job at it. "And why haven't you mentioned him before? Would it have been so hard to tell me that when I saw him at your house? Did you _want_ me to be freaking worried about you? All you had to say was 'No big deal, Michael. It's just my uncle.' Would that have been so hard?" 

"Yes!" 

"For god's sake, why?" 

"Because I hate him! You're not the only one to get landed with a horrible uncle, okay?" 

Michael didn't know what he'd been expecting, but he hadn't been prepared for that. "What did he do to you?" he bit out. 

"Nothing." 

"He had to do something, Maria. I know you. You don't hate people, not without a good reason." 

She began to fidget with the edge of her sleeve. "It doesn't really matter. I haven't seen him in years, and if I'm lucky he'll go away soon. Then this will all be over, and we can all go back to normal. Well, as normal as we get." 

Michael stared at her. Her hair was pulled back from her face by a wide band; her face was clean, her cheeks pale. Sucking in her lower lip, she huddled down into the kitchen chair like she'd be glad if it swallowed her up. 

He opened his mouth, then closed it as realization struck him. 

"What?" she demanded. 

"You're...you're hiding," he said slowly. "I've never seen you hide from anything. No matter how scared you are, you go right ahead and do what you need to do. But you're hiding from this." He hesitated, then added, "Hiding doesn't help anything, Maria." 

"And you're some sort of expert?" 

"Well...yeah." He'd spent his whole life trying to hide who he was, how he felt, even from himself. And one thing he knew for sure: no matter how hard you tried, sooner or later you found out it didn't work. 

She let out a sigh. "I can't talk about it, Michael. Not here." 

"Fine. We'll go somewhere else, then," he said, rising from his chair. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Michael. I mean, I'm wearing pajamas, in case you didn't notice." He hadn't, actually. Her outfit looked more like sweats than pajamas; it certainly wasn't the sleepwear he was used to seeing her in, the pajamas with the sheep all over them. Maria continued, "I'm tired, and I have a double shift tomorrow. So now that you know there's no big deal, can we talk about this some other time? I need some sleep." 

"When?" 

"God, you have a one-track mind," she complained. "I don't know when. I have work tomorrow and the Whits gig Sunday. Sometime." 

Michael settled back in the chair. "Then until you're ready, you won't mind if I talk to someone else." 

Her eyes narrowed. "Like who? You seem to be getting along awfully well with my mother," she said pointedly. 

"Right," he said with a snort. "You said you couldn't talk about it here. I'm guessing she's the reason why. No, I thought I'd go straight to the source." 

"What--my uncle? You can't talk to him, Michael," she said in alarm. 

"Why not? He doesn't speak English?" 

"Michael!" 

"You said yourself he was no big deal. If he's not dangerous, there shouldn't be any problem talking to him, should there?" 

"I don't know why he's here. And I don't want to know," she protested. 

"Well, I do." 

"Michael, _please._" 

Dammit! Why did she have to look at him like that? He didn't think she was trying to wheedle a concession out of him, but her look of honest entreaty had the same effect. "Tell you what," he said slowly. "I won't go hunting him down." He could see the relief in her eyes. "But if I happen to see him, I'm making no promises." 

"Thank you." 

"Whatever." He'd bet she'd put all her concentration into hoping that her uncle's path wouldn't cross his. He grabbed his jacket and stood. "So. I'm gonna go then." 

Rising from her chair, she said, "Okay. Goodnight." After a moment, he gave his head a small shake and headed out the door, pulling the jacket on as he went. He was several steps away from the house when he heard, "Michael?" 

He turned around. Maria was standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from the kitchen. "Yeah?" 

"What you did tonight...it means a lot," she said as she crossed to him. "Thank you, Michael." And reaching up, she pulled his head down to cover his lips with hers. 

Michael's arms went around her without having to think twice, and he gave himself enthusiastically to the kiss. He'd missed this, missed the way she could make him feel. Sure, it had only been yesterday that he'd kissed her outside the Crashdown, but a day was too long to go between times. Hell, five minutes was too long. 

It was all too soon when she pulled away, rather reluctantly, he thought. She skittered to the door, and into the house, only stopping to smile and call a low "Good night." 

His pulse still racing, Michael began the walk back to his apartment in far better spirits. He didn't know the whole story, and he suspected there was more to it than Maria had let on, but he didn't feel like she was in imminent danger. And the kiss had kind of knocked all rational thought from his head anyway. 

Odd, though. She'd said that what he'd done meant a lot. And all he'd done was what he always did: take steps to make sure that she was safe. Well, safe within reason. The safest place for her would be far away from him and all the unavoidable alien issues, and he wasn't willing to go that route any more. But what had she meant by her comment? Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets to warm them from the cool night air, he shook his head. One thing was for sure. He might love her--he _did_ love her--but he was never going to be able to figure her out.  
  
  



	45. Chapter 45

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 45**_

Some sixteen hours later, Maria was no less exhausted. Shoving her antennae headband into her locker, she leaned against it and moaned. 

"Remind me again why I work here," she muttered to herself. 

"Purely for the company," Liz said behind her. 

Maria didn't bother to respond to that one. She was too busy noticing how neat and tidy Liz looked, her hair smooth, her uniform spotless. Quite different from how frazzled Maria felt. Then again, Maria had just finished a hectic double shift, and Liz was only halfway through hers. Still, it wasn't fair. Throwing her apron into the locker after her headband, she complained, "Why is it that practically everyone in Roswell decided they had to eat out today? I mean, Christmas is like a week and a half away! Shouldn't they all be busy shopping or something?" 

"Look on the bright side," her friend told her. "More customers means more tips, so _we_ can go Christmas shopping." 

"As if half of your tips didn't go straight into your Harvard fund. And my Christmas shopping isn't going to take long, anyway. It's not like I have a lot of people to shop for, just Mom and you and Alex and maybe something for Isabel and Max." 

"You're not giving Michael a Christmas present? Are you two still fighting?" 

Flopping down on the break room couch, Maria shook her head. "No, we're not fighting. I'm not sure _what_ we're doing--sometimes with Michael it's hard to tell--but it's not fighting. It's just that Spaceboy 'doesn't do Christmas'. Max says he and Isabel always have to come up with an excuse to give Michael a present. And God forbid it should be referred to as a Christmas present." She airily waved a hand. "But Michael's going to get one from me, no matter what he calls it. I already have it. And I have all next week to figure out how to give it to him." 

Liz gave her a knowing smile. "So you haven't even started shopping for your best friends or your mother, and yet you have Michael's present already? And with eight whole days left before Christmas. How very unlike you, Ms. DeLuca." 

"Oh yeah? And what about you, Ms. Parker?" Maria said, cocking her head to one side. "Planning on purchasing a Christmas present for a certain Czechoslovakian?" 

"Four of them, actually," Liz answered demurely. Maria didn't try to hide her surprise, and Liz explained, "I already bought Max's present. Plus one for Isabel and one for Michael. And one for Tess." 

Maria could actually feel her jaw drop. Up until now, she'd thought that was just an expression. "Tess? Tess Harding? Tess 'Max Evans is My Destined Husband' Harding?" she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch at each reiteration of the alien's name. 

"Mm-hmmm," Liz said. 

"Okay, forgetting the fact that you're organized enough to already have that much Christmas shopping done--which, although not surprising, is sickening, if you ask me--you got a present for Tess. What is it, a roach motel?" 

Ignoring that suggestion, which Maria had to admit was just what it deserved, Liz said, "I found a bracelet with enameled stars on it that I thought was pretty. I didn't spend much; it was on sale." 

"Whatever possessed you, Liz? Granted, she helped with Michael and all, but still. This is the girl who tried to steal your guy, remember?" 

"Well, technically he was hers first," Liz began. 

"And that's reason enough? Okay, that's just too much. I mean, you don't see me going around being all friendly with Michael's past-life ex, do you?" Maria heard what she'd just said and spoke over Liz's laugh. "Okay, so maybe you do. But that's a totally different situation, okay?" 

"It's Christmas," Liz said succinctly. 

Maria shook her head. "You're a better person than I am, chica. Either that, or you've completely lost your mind." 

Rising, Liz smoothed out her uniform. "I'd better get back to the crowd before Dad comes looking for me. Do you have plans for tonight?" 

"Sleep, sleep, and oh, if I can manage it, sleep. Unless Michael swings by to talk or something." 

"Are you expecting him to? Swing by, I mean, not talk." 

"No, but it's Michael. I'm never entirely sure what he's going to do." And she still owed him a complete explanation about her uncle. Which she wasn't looking forward to. But Liz didn't know about that. 

Sure, she could tell her. Liz would even skip over the fact that she'd never mentioned anything about it in all the years they'd known each other, and be supportive. The best of friends. But, darn it, she didn't want to talk about it! 

Of course, she didn't want to tell Michael about it, either. Knowing him, though, it was hopeless to think he'd let it slide much longer. It had been a shock--albeit a pleasant one--that he'd let her put it off this long. Not that he could just _demand_ she tell him, and she would jump to obey. That was so not how their relationship was going to work. And she could outstubborn him any day, if she really wanted to... 

But Liz was still watching her, a smile curving her lips upward. Hurriedly Maria pulled back the thread of conversation she'd left dangling and said, "I just hope that if he does, it's not too late--I want to be in good voice for our gig tomorrow." 

"Now what am I supposed to say at times like these?" Liz teased. "Oh yeah, break a leg, 'Ria." 

Maria gave Liz her best saucy smile. "Only if a certain Max Evans is nearby."  
  
  
*****  


Michael was too busy that day to even consider heading to Maria's, for talk or anything else. He'd woken early; too much was on his mind for him to stay on the couch trying to fall back to sleep. He managed to kill a little time by downing two bowls of cornflakes with milk and Tabasco sauce for breakfast, but it was still early when he headed to the Evanses' house. 

Early enough to catch Max still sleeping the sleep of the untroubled. Okay, anyone who looked that peaceful _deserved_ to be woken up. 

Bolting awake at the sound of the window opening, Max groaned, "Oh, come on, Michael, it's Saturday." He glanced over at his clock. "It isn't even eight o'clock yet." 

"I know," Michael said unrepentantly. "We're supposed to go to Tess's for the book, remember? The sooner we get today's colossal waste of time over with, the better." 

"All right," Max said, climbing out of bed. "But one of these days we have to teach you about this thing called 'sleeping in'. It's something teenagers do on weekends." 

"We don't need that much sleep," Michael pointed out, then gave a deprecating snort as the alarm clock on the nightstand rang. "What was that about sleeping in?" he said with a smirk. 

Max reached out to turn the alarm off. "For that, you get to go wake Isabel up," he admonished. 

Plopping down onto the desk chair, Michael said, "Uh-uh. You remember what your mother said last night? I'm not allowed in Iz's room, remember?" 

Max looked at him for a moment, then shook his head in resignation. "Fine," he said. "I'll go wake Isabel up. But one of these days, we're also going to go over the whole role of the second-in-command. I'm sure there's something in the rulebook about stepping in to save the king from imminent peril. You know, bullets, assassins, sisters intent on beauty sleep, that sort of thing." 

Michael leaned the chair back on its rear legs and nonchalantly propped his feet on the edge of the desk. "Sorry, Maxwell. You're on your own." 

"I'll just grab a shower first," Max decided. "That'll free up the bathroom for Isabel." And with a yawn, he headed into the hall, shutting the door behind him. 

Alone, Michael set his feet back down and tilted the chair forward until it rested on all its legs, then crossed to Max's dresser and looked in the simple wood-framed mirror that hung over it. The alien brand appeared incised into his cheek, as blackly fresh as a week ago. He'd spent quite a bit of the night coming to grips with the fact that he was stuck with it, but he'd avoided looking in his small bathroom mirror that morning. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn't be so bad. His friends would get used to seeing it on his face, and he didn't care what anyone else thought. He just had to avoid reflective surfaces, and eventually he might even forget it was there. If he tried hard enough. 

The only problem would be if someone in the know saw the mark and deciphered its alien origin. The FBI or--although Nasedo seemed to think it wasn't likely--another alien. He turned his marked cheek to the mirror and leaned in to study it. Maybe he should go to a tattoo parlor and get it changed into something innocuous. A skull and crossbones would go over real well, just one more sign of the delinquent label that the world seemed bent on plastering him with. He was stuck on this planet now. With his fancy new face, he could look forward to a whole lifetime of biker bars and minimum wage jobs. If he was lucky. 

God, he sounded like Maria on one of her 'You will succeed even if you don't want to' rampages. A good thing they'd made their bet. He was going to need to graduate high school, at the very least, before settling into a purposeless existence.... 

With a sigh, he pushed himself away from the dresser. He thought he'd done a decent job of hiding his depression from Max. Maybe made up a little for acting the whiner the night before. His friends didn't need to be exposed to his underlying moods--they'd put up with enough of that already. Part of him was even relieved about Max's continuing push to discover more, to save their planet, an imperative Michael had abandoned once he knew how hopeless it was. Keeping busy, keeping occupied, kept him from wallowing in the sinkmire of purposelessness. He could count on Max and Isabel's help with practicing his powers, too--maybe that would keep him distracted. 

Or he could get a hobby. Yeah, right. 

"Max, tell Mom and--oh, hi, Michael." 

Evidently Max was to be spared waking up an irritable sister. From the look of it, she'd been up a while already. Long enough to get dressed and do whatever girly stuff she always did to her face. 

"Hey." 

"How did it go with Maria?" 

Figured she'd cut right to it. After all, why waste time when she could be needling him about his love life? But she wouldn't get much out of him; he'd stick to the non-coupley parts. "The guy I saw is her uncle." 

Isabel gave him a happy smile. "Oh, good. Nothing dangerous there." 

He didn't remind her that his own uncle had proved to be quite dangerous, or that there was something Maria was keeping close to her chest. He just gave a grunt and let her interpret it as she chose. 

"I was planning to get an early start on Christmas errands, but I guess you're here about the pages." 

"We were going over to get the book," he reminded her. 

She nodded decisively. "Right. Well, if we're barging in on Tess this early in the morning, we had better call ahead." Quickly picking up Max's phone, she said, "Number?" 

What did she think he was, a telephone book? "I don't know it. You were her friend," he pointed out. Yeah, he had a knack for that kind of thing, but he'd never seen Tess's phone number written down, after all. He'd certainly never needed to call her. 

Rolling her eyes, Isabel dialed directory assistance and asked for the number. Michael couldn't figure out why she just didn't go into her room and get her address book; he was pretty sure she'd have the phone number from Tess's short-lived friendship period, before the other alien had started sending misinformation directly into their brains with those stupid dreams. But she shortly was speaking to Tess, apologizing for calling so early and mentioning that the three of them would be dropping by that morning. Michael perked up at that. Maybe he could talk Max and Isabel into stopping to pick up breakfast on the way. Forget the two bowls of cereal he'd already eaten--he could always fit in a chocolate-covered doughnut or two.  
  
  
*****  


Tess was actually eager to see them. After the joint rescue efforts the previous weekend, she'd dropped back a bit, giving them the space she felt they probably needed. She needed it too, for that matter; she was still dealing with the disappointment that Michael wasn't her brother. She was on her own. 

She hadn't realized just how much she'd grown to count on it, so quickly. It gave her validation for belonging with them. There was always her relationship with Max, or there should be, but the more time she'd spent observing Max, Liz Parker, or the two of them together, the more she began to doubt that things would ever be the way they were supposed to. She had to face it--he didn't want her, not like that. And where did it leave her? Connected by species, but not by any kind of relationship. 

She rather thought that Michael would be able to come the closest to understanding how she felt: separated, not belonging. He hadn't landed in the same situation as the others, either. And she'd seen evidence that though he held his emotions inside as best as possible, he felt them deeply. But she wasn't his sister, and he had Max and Isabel, and he had Maria. He didn't need Tess. 

And so she'd spent a rather lonely and aimless week, taking part in the Spirit Week activities, but not really part of them. She'd gone to school each day, done her classwork, chatted with the other students, and gone home to an empty house. 

The one saving grace of the whole week had been Kyle Valenti. He'd been friendly, hanging around at lunchtime and joking with her during a shared math class. She wasn't entirely sure why he wanted to. Sure, she came in a nice package--she knew her petite blond looks tended to appeal to the male protective side--but Kyle wasn't stupid. He knew what she was. She'd basically used him at the start, to get Max's attention. And here he was, treating her like she was just a pretty girl, like what she was didn't matter. The unaccustomed feeling of friendship--something she'd been too busy faking for years, for her own protection--was becoming more and more important to her. 

She was in the living room, making sure everything was perfectly in its place, when the doorbell rang. Smoothing her hands down the sides of her skirt, she went to answer it. 

Fifteen minutes later, the house felt alive. Strange how three people could add so much--well, not noise, since none of them were particularly loud people--but so much _presence_. Tess looked around the living room. Michael, his worn boots on the coffee table, was halfway through a doughnut from the box they'd brought with them. Isabel was stirring sweetener into the coffee Tess had made in preparation for their arrival. Max was studying the metal sheets Nasedo had kept hidden, comparing them to the book. 

"Take a look at this," he said. "This one looks familiar." 

Michael leaned over to study the symbol. "Yeah, it does," he said before stuffing the last bite of doughnut into his mouth. Swallowing, he added, "I think it's in the book too, on the page with our pictures." He flipped through the book. "Here." 

"We should make a list of the symbols and note how often and in what context they occur," Max said. 

"That might be helpful if it were a code, Max," Isabel said. "But if it's a language, who's to say it's anything like English? The rules may be completely different." 

"We have to translate it somehow." 

"You mean you can't read it?" Tess asked. "Any of it?" 

"If we could, do you think we'd be sitting on our butts trying to decipher it?" Michael asked smartly. "We'd be off on some wild-goose chase." 

"Said the head goose," Isabel pointed out. Michael wadded up one of the paper napkins Tess had set out and chucked it at Isabel's head. She leaned over and it missed her, but her eyes danced. 

"You can't read it?" Tess asked again. "I can." 

Michael immediately dropped the horseplay. "You can?" he demanded, his interest surging upward. 

"Well, some of it," Tess clarified. "A word or phrase here and there." 

"Show us," Max directed. He held out the book.  
  
  
*****  


Several hours later, they'd extrapolated enough to be able to decipher about a quarter of the symbols. By connecting the one that Tess was sure meant 'the brother' with its appearance under the engraved picture that looked eerily like Michael, they were able to guess which symbols meant Max, Isabel, and Tess. Or, as the book probably put it, 'the King', 'the pod-mate', and 'the consort'. Michael himself thought of them as the Hopeless Dreamer, the Meddler, and the Other One. But that was just because he was frustrated with them all. 

So maybe it wasn't 'nice' to assign those titles to them, even in the privacy of his own head. So what? 'Nice' wasn't anything he aspired to. And if Isabel didn't get off his case about Maria, he was going to have a fit. Maybe blow something up, just for the hell of it. Why the hell was she all caught up in his relationship, anyway? Why didn't she just go out and get one of her own? Michael was willing to bet that Alex Whitman would be more than happy to volunteer. Then again, this was Isabel. Any guy--except Max and Michael himself, for obvious reasons--would be happy to volunteer. 

But while Max immersed himself in the alien language, looking for a clue to saving an entire world, Isabel split her attention between her brother's hopeless quest and Michael's love life. What was she trying to do, convince him that if he couldn't believe in his old dream of going home any more, at least he had something worthwhile on the planet where he was stuck? Because that would piss him off even more. Maria wasn't some consolation prize. 

All in all, he found that he was preferring Tess's company to that of his oldest friends. At least for the time being. She was minding her own business. Helping with the attempted translation, sure, but not on his case about things, like the others were. She wasn't even trying to push herself at Max, for once. 

And then, of course, there were the doughnuts. He'd already had four. 

"Michael?" Max said, cutting into his brooding. "You're the artist. Copy this page, will you?" 

Taking the proffered pencil and notepad, Michael dutifully began to re-create the metal sheet on paper. One of those squiggly ones that looked like a spiral, then the squarish one with the wavy diagonal line across it. A few more curvy ones with different shapes; then, further down the page, the symbol they'd figured meant him. A space next to it, then Max's symbol, Tess's, and Isabel's, all close to each other. 

Another line and then--wait a minute. 

He looked back at the line of symbols reflecting the four of them. The three, so close; and his, with them but separate. There was something oddly familiar about it. 

Closing his eyes, Michael tried to summon up the image. He had to have seen it somewhere else, right? Maybe on one of the other sheets, the ones in the book. But he just couldn't picture it. With a hiss of annoyance, he grabbed the page Isabel was working on. He ignored her annoyed exclamation, skimming his eyes over the page. Nope, not there. He tossed it carelessly back to her and reached for the book that Max had spread open on the coffee table. 

"What's going on?" Max demanded. 

"Hold on," Michael bit out. "I'm looking for something." Flipping through the pages with some urgency, he searched for those symbols, in that juxtaposition. 

Nothing. 

"Dammit," Michael muttered, not really understanding his sudden unease. He looked up to find three sets of eyes gazing at him in consternation. Oh. Right. 

"I was looking for this," he said, holding up the notepad and pointing to the four symbols in question. "It just seemed really familiar all of a sudden. Like I'd seen it before." 

"You have," Tess pointed out. "Those are our symbols." 

"No, I haven't," he denied. "I thought they were on one of the other pages, too, but they're not, not like that. And since there isn't a whole lotta alien writing plastered everywhere, I don't know where I got that from." 

"Anybody else get the same feeling?" asked Max. The two girls shook their heads. Then Isabel blinked, and spoke. 

"Do you remember your dreamscape, Michael? The one when you got so sick at the reservation, and we used the healing stones to bring you back? There were symbols there, weren't there?" Michael frowned and tried to picture it. So much of that time was hazy impressions, not the clear mental pictures he usually could pull back up. The thing he remembered most was his contact with the others--first Alex, then Maria, Isabel and Max, and finally Liz, as they'd stood in the circle with the healing stones and freed him from the smothering sickness that had swept over him. He could vaguely picture brick-red markings on the sand around them, but he didn't think they were what was nagging at him. 

"No, not there. That's not it." He ignored Tess's look of confusion, concentrating on the niggling feeling in his brain. 

"What about the cave itself, the one that we healed you in?" offered Max. 

That wasn't it either. "Dammit, why couldn't Nasedo just teach you to read this stuff?" he shot at Tess. "It wasn't at the cave, it--" 

He cut himself off. No, it wasn't that cave. It wasn't even the symbols themselves that were so familiar. It was their _position_: three grouped together and one slightly apart. 

He'd seen it before, all right. The same spacing, in a series of handprints reflecting the light of a shining blue crystal. 

Handprints on the wall of the pod cave.  
  
  



	46. Chapter 46

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 46**_

"What handprints?" asked Tess. 

Max watched Michael visibly struggle to hold on to a semblance of patience. But Michael had just dropped this on them, and Tess hadn't been a part of things when he had discovered the markings, only a month or so ago. Michael should have known that blurting out "The handprints, they're like the handprints," wouldn't be enough explanation for her. 

Michael evidently had figured that out. "They're in the pod cave," he said in a rush. "Three of them fit our hands. Tess, I'm guessing the other fits yours." He sprang to his feet. "Come on, better if we show you," he added, and headed for the door. 

When no one jumped up to follow, he turned back. "C'mon. Our handprints, laid out just like the symbols on these pages? It's gotta mean something. We gotta check it out, the four of us." 

It had been a while since Max had seen Michael exhibit such fevered excitement, excitement that always led to things like breaking into UFO museums or stealing people's cars. There was frequently a bad outcome to this particular mood of Michael's. So why did it make Max feel so happy? 

He exchanged a glance with Isabel; they seemed to be on the same wavelength. "Sure. I'm in," he told his impatient best friend. 

"Me too," said Isabel. 

Tess looked confused, but went along with the plan. "We can come back here afterwards," she offered. "You know, to continue working on the translation." 

"Actually, I have to work at the UFO museum this afternoon," Max said as they headed outside. He was pleased when the news didn't seem to phase Tess at all. 

"Then it'll be the three of us," she said. "Unless you have to work too, Michael?" 

"No job. Got fired," he tossed over his shoulder as he climbed into the back seat of the Jeep. 

Tess followed him in, saying, "Oh. I'm sorry." Michael just shrugged. 

Max waited for Isabel to buckle her seat belt, then started the Jeep and backed out of Tess's driveway. 

"We need to stop by my place, Maxwell," Michael told him. "I need to get the crystals." 

"Still keeping them in a cereal box?" Isabel asked lightly. 

"Yeah, so?" was Michael's response. Max glanced into the rear view mirror for a glimpse of his friend. Michael's eyes were fixed on the road ahead, his gaze intent. What had happened to his insistence that translating the symbols was a waste of time? He didn't seem to think so now; in fact, he looked as if he'd like to be driving, just to get there faster. 

Max himself didn't feel as driven as Michael did. He would have stayed to work on the book, if things had been normal. Better to gain a complete understanding of what the pages said before taking action. But if it meant giving Michael something to shoot for--if it kept that hopeless, lost look out of his eyes--it was well worth a side trip to the desert.  
  
  
*****  


Michael waited impatiently for Max to wave a hand over the pod chamber entrance. He wanted to see the handprints again, and he wanted to see them _now_. With a feeling of relief, he followed Max inside. 

"Over here," he ordered, pushing past Max and leading them to the far wall of the cavern. Digging in his pockets, he pulled out a handful of blue crystal spheres and held them up. The crystals immediately began to glow, casting a bluish light over their faces. On the uneven wall, four handprints shone out. 

Tess drew in a quick breath. 

"See? It's the same positioning," Michael said. "My hand fits the print on the left. Max and Isabel have the ones on the outside of the other three, just like the symbols on the page." 

"You're right," Max acknowledged, holding up the metal sheet and comparing the two. 

"Try it, Tess. See if you fit the other print," suggested Isabel. Tess did so; like the others had a month earlier, she found the print was a perfect match. Fascinated, she stared at her hand against the rock. 

"What did I tell you? It means something!" Michael exclaimed. He felt suddenly elated. It meant something. He had known it. 

Isabel's voice cut off his moment of triumph. "It means something. But what?" 

His mood plummeted back to a more usual level. "How the hell should I know? Do I look like the fricking Rosetta Stone?" Michael groused. 

"Rosetta stone?" Isabel repeated. 

"It was the key to translating ancient Egyptian hieratic," Max said. "But I didn't know you were interested in that, Michael." 

Did _everyone_ think he was stupid? Just because he didn't go all gaga over school didn't mean he couldn't know stuff. "Read it somewhere," Michael said crossly. 

"I didn't--" Max began. 

"Whatever. Look, we need to figure out what it means." 

"Not just what it means," Isabel corrected. "Who put the prints there? How did they know what size our hands would be?" 

"Or did the prints change size as our hands grew?" Max asked. 

"And why do they only show up in the light of Michael's crystals?" 

Michael looked over at Isabel. He'd been wondering the exact same thing. Had they been there all these years, just waiting, or had the energy stored in the crystals somehow created them? Too many damn questions, and no answers in sight. 

With a frustrated grunt, he gave in to impulse and stepped closer to the wall, shifting the crystals to his left hand and placing his right palm against his handprint. Tess gave him a smile and looked back at her hand, still firmly in place against the stone. Wordlessly, Isabel and Max moved to join them. Their hands reached out and covered up the silvery glow of their prints. 

A burst of light shot out from beneath Michael's hand, zooming to the right to illuminate Max's, Tess's, Isabel's; linking the four handprints together. Too fast for Michael to react, it shone reddish, then golden, and then, in a blinding glare, brilliant white. Then it blinked out, leaving only the shifting blue light from Michael's handful of crystals. 

"What was that?" breathed Isabel as she slowly pulled her hand away from the cave wall. "Michael, what did you do?" 

His eyes still affixed on his own hand, Michael answered, "Nothing. I didn't do anything." He swallowed. "That wasn't me."  
  
  
*****  


Leaning forward, Isabel adjusted the Jeep's heater, then glanced into the rear-view mirror at Michael. His eyes weren't focused on anything in particular, as far as she could tell; he was probably in some inner world, trying to put all the pieces of their latest puzzle together. 

Not that she could blame him; if she hadn't been driving the Jeep so Max could hop out when they reached his workplace, she'd be lost in thought, too. Prudence and a taste for self-preservation kept her mind on the road. 

Pulling up in front of the UFO museum, Isabel bid her brother goodbye and watched him walk casually into the building. Max couldn't fool her; he was just as interested as Michael in figuring out what was going on. The minute he got off work, he'd be heading back to Tess's house to join them. Maybe with a quick stop at the Crashdown first, if Liz was working. 

Actually, the Crashdown wasn't a bad idea. 

"Do you want to stop and get some lunch before we head back to the book?" she asked. She turned to look at her back-seat passengers, only to find that neither Tess nor Michael was paying her any heed. "Lunch? Crashdown?" she said, figuring that the mention of food or Maria's workplace would at least grab her almost-brother's attention. 

Sure enough, it seemed to have an effect. "What?" Michael said, coming up out of whatever fog he was in. 

Isabel managed to control her inner amusement. "I just asked if you wanted to get something to eat." 

"What, the Crashdown?" 

"Yes, the Crashdown. You could say hi to Maria if she's working." 

Strangely enough, he hesitated. "She is, but..." his voice trailed off. 

Tess spoke up. "We can always grab a bite to eat at my house, while we work," she offered. "I know I have some yogurt, and there's got to be something in the kitchen that will pass as guy food." 

Michael grabbed onto that idea. "Yeah. I mean...whatever." 

Since when was Michael avoiding Maria again? He'd just spoken with her last night, hadn't he? His avoidance of the restaurant had to have something to do with her, because there was no way Isabel would _ever_ believe he had a hankering for yogurt. Sure, he'd eat almost anything, but even he had his limits. One of them was yogurt; no matter how hungry he was, she'd never gotten him to take more than one experimental test bite. After that, he'd avoided it like it wanted to sit down and have an in-depth, emotional conversation with him. She didn't know why; loaded up with a few sugar packets, it was pretty tasty, especially the fruit flavors. 

As Isabel turned back to put the Jeep in gear, she caught Tess's gaze in the rear-view mirror. Tess shrugged. She didn't look like she had any insight into Michael's behavior either. 

Isabel didn't let that bother her. She had all afternoon to worm what was going on out of Michael. But she hadn't driven more than four or five blocks before she was ordered to pull over. 

"What?" 

"Just stop the damn Jeep, Izzy!" Michael shouted. Startled, she did just that, coming to a sudden stop in the middle of the street. Luckily, the car behind them was far enough back to avoid a collision. 

"Dammit, Michael! What was that for?" she yelled. 

"Go on without me," he said as he clambered agilely out of the vehicle. "Gotta do something." 

He had to _do something?_ They'd spent all morning chasing after alien messages, when she'd planned to devote it to Christmas preparations, and now he was just taking off? With much exasperation and some trepidation, Isabel watched as Michael headed back the way they'd come.  
  
  
*****  


Fighting the urge to run, Michael casually sauntered down the sidewalk, carefully keeping a dark head in view. No need to attract attention; he just wanted to find out where the guy was going. 

He'd seen him out of the corner of his eye as they'd passed in the Jeep, but he'd been so caught up in mentally rehashing what had happened at the pod cave that it had taken him a minute or two to realize just what he'd seen: a flash of familiar dark red jacket. 

Maria's uncle Teddy, walking down the sidewalk like he had every right to be there. 

Well, he didn't. Not if it was going to upset Maria any more than she already was. Michael hadn't stopped to give it any thought; he'd climbed out of the Jeep and was halfway down the block before he bothered to ask himself just what he was doing. 

Maria was not going to be pleased. Not by her uncle's continued presence, and not by Michael's taking off after him. Then again, he'd promised her he wouldn't look the man up, wouldn't confront him, and he hadn't. Their paths happened to cross, that was all, and Michael was just following him to see where he was going. 

And none of it would even be necessary if Maria had told him what was going on. Okay, so maybe that wasn't fair. She'd said she would tell him, hadn't she? She just couldn't--or wouldn't--talk about it around her mother for some reason. Besides, she'd looked really tired the night before. He'd been right not to press her. 

It was too bad they hadn't met up in their dream room, though. He could've gotten some answers while Maria got some rest. Then again, they hadn't shared a dream in a while. Michael frowned. Not since Bob had taken Maria and her mother hostage. That was what, ten days ago? And no shared dreams. 

He'd been glad at the time; he hadn't wanted any contact with her if it could put her in Bob's path again. Of course, that didn't stop her from stealing his power crystals and coming after him anyway. 

Reaching into his pocket, he fingered the blue sphere he kept separate from the others, the one he carried with him all the time now. The one he'd given Maria on a whim. Wanting her safety hadn't kept her from throwing it back in his face, either. In fact, it was probably the direct cause of it. 

Well, they'd made up, anyway. At least enough that they hadn't given up on each other. Or Maria hadn't given up on him; Michael wasn't sure he had that option any more, no matter how much better it might be for her. He needed her--he _wanted_ her--and he wasn't going to give her up. Not any more. If that made him a selfish prick, well, he'd been called worse. 

Things would be good for them, this time. He'd make it happen, if he could figure out how. Their movie date next week would be a start. He just had to get through the translation, Max's save-the-planet quest, and a lot of other crap first. Then things would be fine. 

That is, unless she got pissed off because he was tailing her uncle. 

Michael carefully kept half a block behind him, following him effortlessly through a few turns. The man moved down the sidewalk like he knew exactly where he was going. He never even looked behind him, though Michael wasn't willing to take this lack of overt suspicion as a sign of innocence. Not until he knew for sure what was going on. 

Which might happen sooner than he expected, because the man walked briskly up to and through the door of Mrs. DeLuca's shop. 

So he was going to visit Mrs. DeLuca. His sister, rather; it was a normal family visit. Nothing wrong with that, right? 

Michael didn't stop moving, but he did slow down and nonchalantly glance in the window as he strolled past. There, behind all the cheesy alien-themed souvenir crap, was Maria's uncle, his back to the door. And facing him, behind the counter, stood Maria's mother. 

Safely in front of the dry cleaners next door, Michael bent down to retie his bootlace. It wasn't loose, but he wanted an excuse to lurk while he thought things through. 

Maria's mother hadn't looked unhappy or displeased to see her brother. She'd looked surprised, but pleased, too, like you were supposed to when you saw a relative you liked. And she did like him; Michael was sure of it. When she'd spoken of him before, when Michael had asked what it was like to have a brother, she'd sounded...well, fond. 

And yet there had to be something off about the guy. Maria hated him. That was proof enough, wasn't it? Michael didn't know why she felt that way, not yet, but she did hate him. She'd said as much. And Maria wasn't the type to go around hating people. If she were, some of the stupid stuff he'd pulled in the past would have put him soundly on her list. Her uncle had to have done something bad to warrant that kind of feeling. 

Michael took a few steps back towards the shop, then halted. What was he going to do, just barge in there and confront the guy? Well, why not? He'd just get everything out in the open and then he could go on his way. 

Except that would _really_ get Maria mad at him, especially if it turned out that all the trouble he was feeling in his gut was really in his head. Besides, he'd spent his whole life trying to keep out of entanglements, so why get enmeshed now? 

Except whatever it was about her uncle that had Maria so upset might affect Mrs. DeLuca too, even if she didn't know it. And he kind of still owed her. 

Well, hell! How was he supposed to know what to do? He sucked at this. It wasn't like hunting for clues about his alien background. This was all about understanding people, something he'd never been very good at. Especially people who were halfway another species. 

He did his best to imagine what Max would do in his place. No, bad example. Max wouldn't feel comfortable acting until he had command of the entire situation. He'd just hang back and see, which didn't suit Michael. If he could do that, he wouldn't have followed Maria's uncle in the first place. Maybe he should try Alex as an example--no, that was even worse. Alex would just walk right in there, casual and friendly. He'd get introduced to Uncle Teddy, make cheerful, genuine conversation, and come out with all the answers. Alex was a lousy example, not because that was a bad plan but because Michael wasn't capable of doing that casual, friendly act that wasn't an act with Alex. 

What could he do? Besides blow up the shop, which was not an option. There was just one other thing he had experience in that might come in handy in this situation. 

He'd break in. 

In a moment, he was striding briskly down the sidewalk, to the end of the row of shops. He'd sneak around to the back, and come in through the door to the alley. He'd hang in the back room until he knew what was going on. Find out everything, and then get involved or not, as he chose. Then he could leave without anyone ever knowing he'd been there. 

The lock on the back door opened effortlessly under his palm. He hadn't been practicing, not really, but it looked like the sudden control he'd gained under Bob's perverse tutelage was going to stick. Good to know. 

Silently, he moved towards the door to the shop proper. He could hear the murmur of voices, but couldn't make them out until he pushed the door slightly ajar. 

"...did you come?" Mrs. DeLuca. Huh. For someone happy, she didn't sound all that welcoming. 

Uncle Teddy obviously thought so, too. "Well, that's a nice greeting, Amy," he said. Amy? Oh. Mrs. DeLuca. Michael wasn't used to thinking of her as anything but 'Mrs. DeLuca' or 'Maria's mother'. Or 'newspaper-wielding maniac'. But her brother was continuing, "Aren't you going to wish me a happy holiday? 'Tis the Season, and all that." 

"Of course, Teddy. I'm just surprised to see you, that's all. I didn't expect it, not after all this time." 

"You sent someone to look for me, Amy. Was it really necessary to hire a P.I.?" 

Michael tensed. She'd hired a detective? He'd been right to be suspicious. 

"I didn't know how else to find you. You left Roswell and disappeared on me. It's been three years since I got so much as a postcard." 

"I've been travelling. You know, the lure of the open road?" 

There was a sigh, and then Mrs. DeLuca said, "Is that really all there is to it, Teddy?" 

"What else would there be?" he asked. Michael was wondering the same thing. 

"You told me you quit, years ago. I believed you." 

"I did quit." 

Michael frowned. Quit what? He leaned closer to the door. 

"Then how did a certain box wind up in my stock room?" 

Teddy sounded as confused as Michael felt. "What box?" 

But suddenly, Michael knew. The box that had put Mrs. DeLuca into temporary shock when he'd found it in the midst of rearranging the stock room shelves for her. He glanced over to the stock room door. If it was still there, and she came in to get it-- 

Wheeling around, he started for the back door. Unfortunately, his haste made him careless, and his elbow struck the edge of a shelf. He threw out a hand to stop the resulting wobble and only succeeded in knocking an entire box onto the floor. 

The crash was followed by a loud, "What the hell was that?" from the other room. 

_Dammit!_ He'd make a break for it--but the door was starting to swing open. So much for sneaking out without anyone knowing he'd been there. 

Without wasting another fraction of a second, Michael crouched down by the box, as if to assess the damage. He was just in time. Mustering an apologetic half-smile, he looked up. There was Maria's mother, peering over the shoulder of Uncle Teddy. Uncle Teddy, who did not look pleased.  
  
  



	47. Chapter 47

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 47**_

Oh, shit. Michael stared up at the two adults in the doorway. Almost idly, his brain took a moment to note a similarity in their features, especially the eyes. Definitely brother and sister. 

Well, this wasn't the first time he'd been caught somewhere he shouldn't have been. It wasn't even the worst--no one was pointing a gun at him this time, and he wasn't under arrest. 

Although he might find himself there if he didn't come up with something quick. 

"Uh...sorry about the box," he muttered, then ran out of things to say. 

"Michael," said Mrs. DeLuca. "I'd forgotten you were back here." 

What? Michael hoped he didn't look as confused as he felt. It didn't matter though, because she kept right on talking. 

"Teddy, this is Maria's boyfriend, Michael Guerin. He helps out in the shop sometimes. Michael, my brother Theodore Laterro." 

"Hey," Michael said awkwardly. 

The introduction didn't seem to affect the man's attitude. It certainly didn't change his expression. "Sorry to burst in here," he said, not sounding all that apologetic. "I thought someone had broken in." 

Someone had. But for some reason, Mrs. DeLuca wasn't calling him on it. Michael gave a noncommittal shrug and focused on the box by his knees. Opening it, he found half a dozen ceramic coffee mugs with bug-eyed green alien heads on them. He wasn't sure whether or not he was relieved that none appeared to be broken. 

"They're okay," he said, picking up the box and rising to his feet. He set the mugs back on the shelf, squared his shoulders, and turned back to the adults. Laterro was standing there, staring at him. 

Mrs. DeLuca seemed more at ease with the situation. "Teddy," she suggested smoothly, "why don't you go into the shop. I'll just get Michael started on his next project and join you. We can talk in between customers." Stepping to the side, she made room for her brother to pass. 

Laterro gave Michael one more look, then left. Mrs. DeLuca shut the stock room door behind her, slipping immediately into a much more urgent mode. 

"What's going on, Michael?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "Is it another alien problem?" 

Well, that was certainly blunt. "Uh, no. Nothing like that," Michael hastened to assure her. 

She visibly relaxed. "Well then, why are you here?" she asked. She didn't sound upset about it, just like she wanted to get this cleared up and move on to other things. 

Problem was, Michael didn't really want to tell her. For one thing, she might get pissed that he was tailing her brother. In the past, he could've let her forthcoming anger run harmlessly off the hard shell he'd built up. But that was before Maria. Things were different now. 

And, just as importantly, whatever was going on between Maria and her uncle was something she didn't want discussed in front of her mother. So there was no way he was going to be able to explain everything to Mrs. DeLuca. He'd just keep his mouth shut. 

Unfortunately, Mrs. DeLuca wasn't that accommodating. "Michael," she said firmly, "I'd like an explanation, please." 

"Uh...I wasn't hurting anything," he stumbled. "I was just...just...." 

"Just?" 

Wait. Maybe there was a way out of this after all. "The other day, I was going by your house," he said. "And I saw this guy lurking around and looking in your windows." That much should be safe enough to say, right? 

Sadly, Mrs. DeLuca was smart enough to know that wasn't all. "And?" she prompted. 

"And today I saw the guy again. Saw him go into your shop. So I kind of...kind of snuck into the back room." All true, and he hadn't brought up Maria at all. 

"Why?" 

Dammit! "I don't know, I just...I kind of..." he floundered. 

Either Mrs. DeLuca thought she knew the answer, or she was taking pity on him. Maybe both. "So you thought you'd just make certain everything was on the up-and-up?" 

"Uh...yeah. Sort of." 

"Well, that was very sweet, Michael," she said, smiling at him. She might not have smiled so much if she'd known everything, though. She made it sound like he'd done a good thing, that he'd been looking out for her. If he had, that was just a byproduct. He'd been spying on her brother. And not, as it turned out, successfully. 

"But as you can see, everything is fine. Teddy must have been looking for me when you saw him," she went on. 

Michael shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Yeah...sorry 'bout that." 

"Not a problem." She paused. "How did you get in, anyway--pick the lock?" 

He frowned. He thought they'd explained things to her during the whole alien confession scene. "I didn't need to. I could open it...you know," he said, not comfortable with laying it right out there. Not with someone right in the next room. 

Comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh, right. Sorry. I'm just a little slow today." 

"You weren't when you covered for me," he admitted. "So...thanks." He hesitated. "Uh...since I'm here, is there anything you need me to do? I know you don't have a broken arm anymore, but...if you need some help? Since you told your brother that's what I was doing," he finished in a rush. 

Mrs. DeLuca studied him. Uncomfortable, he let his eyes drop away from hers. "You're a very complicated person, aren't you?" she said finally. Michael didn't think she was really asking, so he just shrugged. Complicated came with the whole alien hybrid package. 

But that wasn't what she was referring to. "You can hurt Maria so terribly," she continued, "and then turn around and be so sweet." 

That was the second time she'd called him that. "I am not sweet," he said firmly. He wasn't going to argue the first half. 

Mrs. DeLuca gave a little laugh but didn't acknowledge his protest otherwise. "Yes, Michael, if you'd like to stay, you can help me."  
  
  
*****  


Several hours later, Michael stuck the bottle of cleaning solvent back on its shelf in the storeroom and stretched out his back. Mrs. DeLuca had kept him hopping: moving stuff around, repricing some merchandise she'd decided to put on holiday special (he particularly hated the plastic figurines of aliens in Santa suits) and, finally, cleaning what seemed like every last square inch of the shop. He was glad the room wasn't any bigger. 

Sure, he knew how to clean; it wasn't hard. He'd just never bothered much with it. Hank had been too much of a slob to make more than a cursory cleaning worthwhile, and Michael would much rather spend time doing other things, now that he had his own place. 

But today he had cleaned without complaint. Without a word, actually. He didn't have anything to say, anyway. Mrs. DeLuca and her brother had talked for a while, in between a few customers, but the conversation had been innocuous. Nothing to give Michael a clue to what Uncle Teddy--Mr. Laterro--was up to. And the guy had eventually left, arranging to meet Mrs. DeLuca for a bite at the Crashdown after she closed up. Michael hoped Maria got off work before then. 

Anyway, he'd kept his silence and cleaned. He was kind of surprised he'd stuck with it that long instead of grunting out an excuse and leaving. It wasn't like he actually enjoyed it, not like Isabel-- 

Shit! 

He'd completely forgotten about Isabel, and that she and Tess had gone back to continue working on the translation. And he'd blown them off to do scut work for Mrs. DeLuca. Isabel could never hear about this; he'd never live it down. 

Which meant he'd better get his butt over to Tess's house pretty damn fast, and try to salvage something from the situation. Grabbing his jacket from the shelf where he'd tossed it earlier that afternoon, he headed into the shop. 

Mrs. DeLuca looked up from the merchandise she was ringing up. 

"I gotta go," Michael announced, ignoring the customer. 

Smiling at him, Mrs. DeLuca said, "Thank you for your help this afternoon, Michael." 

"Not a big deal," he muttered, slipping into his jacket and quickly fastening the buttons. He hadn't done anything she couldn't have. And he still owed her. Then, without another word, he was out the door. 

He moved quickly, his long strides eating up the sidewalk, and tried to ignore the bustle of people on the streets. Didn't they have better things to do than get in his way? Shouldn't they be off doing that Christmas preparation crap that Isabel was always going on about? 

As he neared the Sheriff's station, his feet slowed. If he turned at the next corner, he could go by the Crashdown. It would only take him a few blocks out of his way, and he could warn Maria that her mother and uncle would be meeting there, in case she didn't get off work before they showed up. 

Or, at the very least, he could leave a message with Liz if she was there and Maria wasn't. 

Except, if he told Maria about it, then she'd want to know how he knew. She'd pry it out of him, and then the whole spying-on-her-uncle thing would come out. And while technically he hadn't broken his promise--he'd just said he wouldn't actively _look_ for the guy--he wasn't sure she'd see it that way. 

Michael stood on the corner, hesitating, as he tried to weigh which action would cause the most harm to their tenuous relationship, and should therefore be avoided. He was leaning towards just biting the bullet and telling her all about it when a hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around. 

"What the--" he cried out, only stopping when he saw who had accosted him. 

Maria's Uncle Teddy, who was looking at him with scorn in his eyes. Michael, who was actually quite used to getting that sort of look, suddenly decided that for once he wasn't going to passively accept it. 

Drawing himself up to his full height--which, he was pleased to see, was a good inch or so taller than the older man--he challenged, "Yeah? You want something?" 

Laterro looked right back at him. "I want to talk to you." 

"So talk," Michael said with a shrug. 

But that wasn't what the guy had in mind. "Not here," he said. "We'll go to my motel." 

Sparing one brief second to consider that this might be a trap--Max would be proud--Michael nevertheless agreed. "Lead the way," he said. If the guy tried anything, he'd find out Michael was more than a match for him. Even without his powers. 

There was no conversation as they walked the eight or nine blocks to the Roswell Motor Inn. Laterro unlocked the door to a room at the far end, and they stepped inside. It wasn't a bad place, Michael noted. Not the Ritz, but nowhere near as sleazy as the nookie motel he and Maria had stayed in on the way to Atherton's dome. Hell, it was probably nicer than his own apartment. 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Michael demanded, "Well?" 

Laterro dropped into a chair and looked at him for a moment. Then, quite calmly, he stated, "I know what you're doing." 

Michael arched an eyebrow, refusing to allow his sudden tension to show. Laterro was Maria's uncle. Human. Surely if he was part of some alien-hunting brigade, she would have mentioned something about it. He couldn't know who Michael was, could he? 

"So what am I doing?" he asked steadily, but he was ready to drop his crossed arms and thrust his right hand out if he needed to use his powers. 

"You think I'm not onto you? I know what punks like you do," Laterro barked. "You're setting my sister up. What's the plan, you gonna rob her? Steal her hard-earned cash and use it for drugs?" 

Somehow this accusation didn't seem much better than an acknowledgment of Michael's origins would. It was kind of surprising. This attitude wasn't any different from what he expected from the world as a whole. But it still stung. Clenching his jaw, Michael asked, "What makes you think I'd do anything like that?" 

"Look at you. The hair, the tattoo...you're probably in a gang." 

Suddenly, Michael wanted nothing more than to plant his fist firmly in the middle of the man's face, and damn the consequences. Instead, he turned and started for the door. 

"You stay away from them, from both of them, do you hear?" Laterro shouted after him. 

Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, Michael answered with one curt word. "No."  
  
  
*****  


It was late afternoon when Tess and Isabel finally gave up on the translation. They'd spent hours on it, but hadn't accomplished anything further, had no sudden insights into its meaning. 

And with Max having to work and Michael flaking out on them, Isabel was a little less willing to give up her valuable time when she had so many other things to do. The translation could wait; they weren't having any success anyway. 

So she said goodbye and left Tess to do...whatever Tess wanted to do. A sudden pang of sympathy struck her. Tess was all alone, and Isabel doubted Nasedo would be heading back to town to spend time with her. He probably hated Christmas as much as Michael did. But that didn't mean Tess had to be on her own, either. Isabel made a mental note to check her organizer and schedule in some time with Tess. Not alien-mystery-solving or enemy-fighting time, just some time together doing something fun, if they could remember what fun was. After all, before she'd known Tess was one of them, they'd had the very rough beginning of a friendship going on. Now that she did know--and now that Tess wasn't quite as fixated on Max, Isabel admitted to herself--maybe they could build on that beginning. 

She was paused at a stop sign when a sudden pounding on the window brought her out of her reverie. Glancing over, startled, she watched as Michael opened the passenger door and climbed into the Jeep. 

"It's about time you showed up," Isabel said tartly. "Did you finish your secret errand?" 

"I need a ride to the quarry." 

What kind of answer was that? Frowning, Isabel looked over at Michael, noticing for the first time the almost electric tension that radiated from him. "Michael, what's going on?" she asked. 

"Forget it," he snapped, reaching for the door handle. "I'll walk." 

"Wait a minute!" Isabel said. "I didn't say I wouldn't drive you." Checking the roads, she turned left at the intersection and headed for the quarry. She gave him a few sideways glances, but it was quite obvious he didn't want to talk. In fact, she suspected he wouldn't hesitate to jump out of the moving vehicle if she pressed him. 

So instead of questioning him, she said, "We didn't have any more luck with the translation." 

She wasn't surprised when the only response from Michael's side of the Jeep was silence. Trying again, she kept her voice light. "It was a good thing you didn't come back to Tess's. She really didn't have much beyond yogurt, and I know how much you adore that." 

Still no response. Another glance, and she saw how tightly his hands were clenched. With a sigh, she consigned Michael's fluctuating moods to perdition and kept any further comments to herself. The rest of the ride was spent in silence. 

Pulling up to the quarry, Isabel put a hand on Michael's shoulder before he could get out. His head snapped over to stare at her, but she didn't let it phase her. 

"What time do you want me to pick you up?" she asked in what she thought was a particularly reasonable tone. 

"Go away, Isabel." 

"Michael--" 

He interrupted, shrugging out from under her hand. "Look, I'm not angry at you, but if you don't get out of here fast, the Jeep could be toast, okay?" he forced out through gritted teeth. 

"I'll come back at 8:00," she decided. 

A sudden surge of electricity in the air stood the hair on the back of her neck on end. Michael scrambled out of the Jeep, saying, "I'll get home on my own. Get outta here, Izzy." Without a backward glance, he stalked down the path to the quarry rim. 

Isabel watched him head straight to the edge of the chasm and stand there. After a moment, she gave in and turned the Jeep around. She hadn't gone far when a clap of thunder reverberated through the air. Startled, she glanced into the late afternoon sky. There wasn't a cloud in sight. 

She stopped the Jeep and turned in her seat to look behind her. She could still make out Michael's figure poised on the rim of the quarry; even at that distance she could almost feel the energy radiating from him. Holding her breath, she watched as he heaved a large rock into the air and thrust out his hand. 

With another thundering crash, the rock exploded in mid-air, raining shards and rubble down into the quarry below. Michael didn't hesitate; he just bent down to reach for another rock. 

Isabel put a hand to the nape of her neck. The hair was lying flatly in place once more, but it _felt_ like it should still be standing on end. With a shiver, she put the Jeep back into gear and continued down the road toward Roswell. She didn't know what had happened to Michael, but she was sure he hadn't just wanted to practice his new-found powers. 

Because if that was all he wanted, he wouldn't have practically vibrated with anger. And she and Max had both volunteered to help him practice. If that was all he wanted, Michael would have invited them along. Wouldn't he?  
  
  



	48. Chapter 48

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 48**_

Taking a deep breath, Maria looked once more into the mirror to check that her make-up, her hair, that _everything_ was perfect. After all, someone in the group had to look good, and she couldn't count on the guys, who were massively style-challenged. Thank god Alex--after much abject pleading on her part--had relented and absolved her from having to wear her Crashdown uniform. The simple red dress she'd borrowed from Liz wasn't her usual style, on or off stage, but it did look festive. Just the thing to wear to belt out Christmas carols. 

She wasn't as nervous this time. Her stint in the school musical had helped, and even though here she was being herself instead of a character in a play, she didn't have the sinking feeling of total panic that had stricken her before her first gig with the Whits. Now she just had butterflies, which had started in her stomach and then spread through her whole body. And her hands, though steady, felt oddly hollow. Weird. 

Lifting one of her hollow hands, she applied another coat of lip-gloss. You could never be too shiny, right? And the familiar berry flavor of the gloss was soothing. In fact, maybe she needed a sixth coat-- 

There was a knock on the ladies' room door, followed by a familiar voice. "Maria?" Alex called. "You're not flaking out on us again, are you?" He sounded a little worried. Maybe he had pre-show jitters, too. 

Gathering up her makeup, she dropped it into her bag to leave with the guitar and drum cases. Then she headed to the door and flashed a smile at Alex. "Of course I'm not going to flake out. I'm a professional." At his look, she admonished, "Well, we _are_ getting paid, aren't we?" and breezed past him. 

A few hours later, adrenaline had long since overrun her nerves and she was riding an exuberant post-performance high. In the back hallway where they'd stashed the instrument cases, Maria threw jubilant arms around Alex. "That was so great!" she enthused, moving on to hug a surprised but not-objecting Marcus. 

"It was just a gig," Chris put in as he deftly stowed his snare drum in its case. "We didn't even get to play our own stuff, just Christmas tunes." 

"We did get a fifty-dollar tip on top of what they'd agreed on," Alex pointed out. "Of course, I think Mr. Chavez had sucked down a few too many glasses of the holiday nog when he gave it to me." 

"Still," Maria caroled as she moved to hug the drummer. "It was great. _We_ were great!" 

"What is with you, DeLuca?" Chris said as she gave him a squeeze. "It went fine, but it wasn't the stuff Grammies are made of." 

Alex grinned. "Looks like Mr. Chavez wasn't the only one into the holiday nog." 

"I am not about to let you ruin my mood," Maria said, giving him a wide, giddy smile. "He came to hear me! Didn't you see him?" 

"Who, Santa Claus?" Marcus chimed in. 

"No, pinhead. Michael," she said, hugging Nicky, who quickly dropped the amp he was lugging to reciprocate. 

"Michael? Which Michael?" he asked. 

"The only one that matters," she sang. 

"Guerin," Alex supplied. "Her boyfriend." 

Nicky suddenly stopped hugging back. "He's here?" 

"Uh huh." 

"Maria, are you trying to get us thrashed? You don't go around hugging other guys, especially not if your boyfriend is around! What were you thinking?" 

A familiar voice came from behind them. "Good question." 

Maria whirled around and launched herself at Michael. His arms wrapped tightly around her for a moment; then they relaxed and let her slide out of his embrace. "Hey," he said in greeting. 

"You came! I didn't know you were coming," she could hear herself babbling. "I thought you'd be off skulking about somewhere. I didn't know here's where you'd be skulking. Why didn't you tell me you were--" 

"Don't you ever stop to take a breath?" he asked. 

"No," she said irrepressibly. 

"Didn't think so," Michael muttered. Maria gave him a mock pout, and he shrugged. 

Alex clicked shut the latches on his guitar case and stood back up. "I didn't know you were a McGill & Chavez Insurance customer, Michael," he joked. 

"I'm not." 

"Nice of you to show up at their party, then." 

Michael's tone was serious, but the corner of his mouth quirked up just the slightest bit as he replied, "Had to come. My girlfriend's in the band." 

Maria could actually feel her smile widen. Not only had he shown up at her gig, but he'd called her his girlfriend again, and in front of witnesses, most of whom weren't even in their little in-the-know circle, which made it even better. It was practically...public. "Yeah?" she asked. "So what did you think of said girlfriend in said band?" 

"It was good, I guess." 

"You guess?" 

"This type of music's not really my thing," he reminded her. 

Right. Scrooge Guerin and his total disdain for all things Christmas. "Well, we'll let you know when we perform our tribute to the gods of heavy metal," Maria shot back with a smile. Reaching for her coat, she scrambled into it, then grabbed her bag and Michael's hand, in that order. Pulling him towards the door, she called back over her shoulder, "We're going. See you guys later." Behind her, she heard Alex let out a poorly-muffled snort. 

Maria half-expected Michael to pull out of her grasp, but he let her tow him all the way to the Jetta. All he said was, "Where are we going?" 

"Somewhere we can talk," she answered, digging in her bag for the keys. "That's why you came, right?" 

"Yeah. Kind of." Catching the odd note in his voice, she glanced up. He didn't look any more enthusiastic at the prospect than she was. Well, he was the one who wanted to know all about Uncle Teddy. Unless he could suddenly read minds, he'd just have to put up with some conversation. 

On an impulse, she tossed the keys at him. "Here. You drive." 

"Where?" 

"Anyplace we can talk," she answered as she moved around the car to the passenger side. "Except maybe not your apartment. Mom hasn't officially removed her ban on that yet." 

Michael hesitated, then slid behind the wheel.  
  
  
*****  


He wasn't all that surprised to find himself driving up the road that led to the quarry. Where else were they going to go for a private talk? His apartment was off limits, and they couldn't go to Maria's in case her mother was there. As far as privacy went, this was as good as they were likely to get. So here he was, back at the spot he'd left barely twelve hours earlier. By the time he'd worked out his anger--or at least gotten it back under control--and made the long hike back into town to his apartment, it had almost been dawn. 

Sticking the keys into his pocket, he got out of the car and leaned against it. Maria joined him, perching on the hood. 

Michael glanced over at her. She'd fished a pair of brightly-striped mittens out of her pockets, and her hair blew slightly in the light breeze, picking up a few reddish highlights from the setting sun. She looked beautiful. Turning, he cradled her face between his palms and gave her a slow, lingering kiss. 

When he pulled his head back, she was smiling up at him. "What was that for?" she asked. 

"You were good. The singing," he said gruffly. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. And..." Isabel had told him to open up and tell Maria what he thought, no matter how stupid it made him feel. Maybe now was the time to try. It was just words, right? He made an attempt to put all he was feeling into those words, without much success. He had to settle for, "And...and you looked pretty good." 

"Two compliments in one afternoon!" she said, grinning. "I must be doing something right." 

He'd watched her, glowing up there on that stage, and all he'd wanted to do was bury his fingers in her hair and kiss her senseless. Well, that wasn't _all_ he wanted to do, but it was all that was going to happen. 

If even that much happened. Sure, things seemed better between them. She hadn't objected when he'd called her his girlfriend, and they still had their upcoming movie date; but he knew all too well how volatile their relationship could be, and he wasn't sure how she was going to react when he told her about yesterday's spy activities. 

Maybe he'd better take another kiss first, just in case. 

One kiss became two, and then three. He found himself standing between her knees, out of breath and entwined around her like some sort of sea monster. She tasted like raspberries. 

Not giving his kiss-drugged mind any time to recover, he blurted out, "I met your uncle." 

Maria stilled, but didn't pull away. She just looked at him and said, noncommittally, "You did." 

"Yeah. I saw him and followed him to your mother's shop, and she introduced us." He hesitated, then added, "I didn't like him either, if it's any consolation." 

"Well, it's always nice to get a concurring opinion," she said. She didn't sound angry, Michael thought with some surprise. "Then again, you're not exactly overburdened with people you like. So how come my uncle's on your hate list?" 

Michael shrugged. "Just the usual anti-delinquent attitude." It hardly mattered; he should be used to it by now. What did matter was how she was taking the news. Which was remarkably well. "So how come you're not pissed at me?" he asked point blank. 

"I don't know. I'm just not. Besides, Mom told me this morning that you'd...made a visit to the shop." Her eyebrows rose quizzically. "She said something about there not being a speck of dust left on the premises." 

"You know, my life would be easier if you and your mother didn't talk so much," Michael muttered, moving to lean on the fender next to her perch. "It's unnatural." 

"You and your new penchant for cleaning? Yep, it sure is," Maria teased. 

"Yeah, laugh it up," Michael said without any mirth whatsoever. "And not one word to anyone else about it, either." 

"Why? What's in it for me if I don't tell?" 

"What do you want?" he asked warily. 

Maria wrinkled her nose in thought. Finally she gave him a triumphant smile. "I get to choose the movie for our date!" 

"Maria, I--" Michael began, then acquiesced. "Fine. You choose the movie." He didn't bother to tell her that he'd been pretty sure they would have ended up seeing whatever she wanted, anyway. She would have wheedled it out of him somehow, so it wasn't much of a price to pay for her silence. Besides, if things went the way he hoped, they might not actually _see_ much of the movie, anyway. 

"It's a deal, then. If anyone asks, you're a real slob," Maria said. 

"It's a deal," Michael repeated. Maria smiled at him as she pulled the collar of her coat up higher. She was starting to look a little cold; maybe it was time to get back to the reason they were out here. He hesitated, then said, "Doesn't mean you're going to get out of talking about your uncle, though." 

"And here I hoped you'd forgotten all about that," she said wryly. 

"Nope. And you're not leaving here till you've talked, so spill it." 

"We could just stay here forever," Maria offered. "You, me, sunsets over the quarry..." Michael refused to budge; he just looked at her and waited. She sighed. "Okay, so at some point Mom will need the car, and everyone and his brother will come looking for us, and I might as well just give up now, right?" 

"C'mon, Maria. Is your uncle just a jerk, or am I gonna have to hurt him?" he asked, quite seriously. Or at least he was pretty sure he was serious. 

She bit her lip. "It's just...I don't like to talk about it, okay? I don't even like to _think_ about it--it hurts." 

Something in her tone made Michel's stomach tense up. "Maria," he said, carefully keeping his voice even, "What did he do to you?" 

Drawing back a little, Maria met his eyes. "What? What do you--oh, god no. Michael, it's not what you're thinking. He didn't do anything to me, not like you mean." She looked earnestly at him. "He didn't hit me, or touch me, or whatever. I promise you that." 

Letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, Michael asked, "Then why...?" 

"Why do I hate him?" 

"Yeah." 

Maria reached over and smoothed down the collar of his jacket. "Do you remember when I told you about my fantasy?" His interest immediately piqued, he raised an eyebrow, and she scolded, "Stop it, Michael! You know that's not what I meant. You know, the fantasy where my dad comes to get me and my mom in a limousine, and takes us off to live in some palace somewhere?" 

Michael nodded. He remembered it very well. It had been the first time he'd ever realized that he could have something in common with a human. That maybe they weren't all the enemy. 

"Well, Theodore Laterro is why I had to have that fantasy. He made my mom and dad split up." 

Michael didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that, and he wasn't really sure how to react. Maria was looking at him, though, waiting. He'd better say something. He opened his mouth to speak. "Oh." 

He immediately knew that was the wrong choice when Maria drew back and stared at him. 

"'Oh'? I tell you something that, like, changed my whole life, something that's weighed on me for ten years, and all you can say is 'Oh.' Way to be supportive, Michael." 

Suddenly the breeze wasn't the only thing carrying a chill. 

"Look, I didn't mean...it's just..." Michael attempted. Oh, hell. "Well, what'd he do, hold a gun on them or something?" he burst out. 

"What?" 

"You know, force them or whatever. You said he made them..." Oh, this was not going well at all. He should have known better than to try and talk. Running his hand through his hair, he took a deep breath. "Let's start over, okay? Pretend I know next to nothing about families or marriage or any of that--" 

"Not exactly a stretch, there, Michael." 

"Whatever. So help me out here, Maria. How did he make your parents split up?" 

"I heard my mom and dad arguing about it." She fidgeted with her coat buttons as she continued, "We made these mobiles at school. Liz's was all geometric shapes in blue and white, but I used every color of construction paper we had, 'cause I thought, you know, the more color the better. And Mrs. Parker came to pick Liz up at school, and she gave me a ride, too, because the mobiles were pretty big for a second-grader to cart around, you know?" 

Michael wondered what a stupid elementary school art project had to do with her parents splitting up, but he kept his mouth shut. He just watched as she told the story. 

"And I was bringing it in, but I tripped on the front step and dropped it. So I went inside, to get some tape to fix it, and that's when I heard them." 

"Your parents?" 

"Yeah. Michael, my parents _never_ fought. I mean, they were practically like the same person, they got along so well. Even when any other parents would've been at each other's throats, they weren't." 

That was hard for him to buy. Everybody fought sometimes, right? Even the all-too-perfect Evans parents argued from time to time, according to Max and Isabel. They didn't throw punches or anything, but they didn't always agree. "I don't know, Maria. Maybe they just didn't fight in front of you." 

She shook her head. "They didn't fight at all, Michael. I'm sure of it. My parents were really open; they didn't hide _anything_ from me. But there they were, fighting like crazy." 

"About your uncle?" Michael guessed. 

"Uh-huh. Mom wanted to give him money and this bracelet that had belonged to my great-grandmother. It was pretty valuable, I think. And my father said they'd given Uncle Teddy enough already, that he'd just waste it." 

"On what?" 

"I don't know. He'd sworn off gambling, so maybe on alcohol, or drugs. Hey, it could've been on the world's largest collection of sea monkeys, for all I know. But Mom gave him the money, and he left." She looked down at her hands. "A couple of weeks later, my dad was gone too." 

Michael had a sudden mental image of a smaller Maria sitting on the curb in front of her house, right after her father had left. She'd cried, and her Dalmatian puppy had licked away her tears. When he'd gotten the flash from her last year, he'd thought he understood how much she'd hurt back then. Maybe he really didn't. "And you blame your uncle." 

"I have to, Michael. If it's not his fault, then my dad abandoned us for no reason. It's bad enough that he left. I don't think I could handle knowing he did it because he wanted to. Or...or because of me." 

Okay, he _knew_ he didn't buy that. "He didn't leave because of you," Michael scoffed. 

Her voice sharpened as she retorted, "You don't know that." 

"Hey, I'm the expert on running from things, right?" Maria nodded, somewhat reluctantly, Michael thought. He took her hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around it. "Then believe me when I say people don't leave because of you. They leave because of them, because they're scared, or selfish, or just plain stupid." 

Maria looked at him, her mouth gaping open slightly. Come to think of it, he'd kind of shocked himself. The words had come out so easily. And he'd unwittingly exposed a part of himself he wasn't all that comfortable sharing. Quickly he tried to recover, blurting, "I mean, you're not a saint or anything--" 

"You know, Spaceboy," Maria interrupted, "I think I'm going to keep you." 

His sudden facility for words deserted him. "Yeah. Whatever," he said, his mouth suddenly dry. She rolled her eyes, but didn't release his hand. "So..." Michael said, "so why's your uncle here now, anyway?" 

"My mom hired a private detective to find him," Maria said. "I mean, can you believe it? She spent good, hard-earned cash to track him down. I don't even know why. It's not like she needs him to donate a kidney or something." A horrified expression covered her face, and her hand slipped from his. "Oh my god! What if she _does_ need him to donate a kidney, or a lung or something? What if--" 

Grabbing her shoulders, he cut her off. "She's not sick, Maria. Max healed her arm, right?" He could still feel the tension in her body. "Besides, she would've told you if she was sick. You guys talk all the time, remember?" 

"We used to, before--" Maria abruptly ended her sentence. 

He grimaced. "Before you got sucked into the big alien conspiracy." 

"That wasn't what I was going to say, Michael. Well, okay, it was, but it's not exactly what I meant." 

"She knows about us now. Nothing's stopping you from talking to her any more." 

Maria gave a rather unladylike snort. "Oh yeah, like that's gonna happen." 

"Nothing else has changed, though. You're still the same--you sniff that oil crap and talk too much and dress weird-- 

"You're one to talk, Mr. 'I wouldn't wear anything even remotely fashionable, even if I had the slightest clue what that was'." 

Michael ignored her slam. His clothing had to meet three criteria: it had to be cheap, comfortable, and help him fade into the woodwork. "You're still best friends with Liz and Alex. Nothing's changed," he told her. 

"I would call having a boyfriend a pretty major change. You do remember that we're in a relationship, don't you?" 

Pulling back, he snapped, "So, what? You're saying this is my fault?" 

"It's not about you, Michael. Well, it is, but not about you personally, about your Czechoslovakian-ness. It's just because I have a boyfriend now. Any boyfriend. I mean, I could be dating Ghandi, but there are still things I would _never_ share with my mother." 

Somehow, being the boyfriend of Mrs. DeLuca's daughter didn't seem all that much less scary that being the _half-alien_ boyfriend of Mrs. DeLuca's daughter, but Michael let out a breath and forced himself to relax. "I don't think she'd worry so much if you were dating Ghandi. He doesn't get around much." 

"Like you do?" 

"Hey! I got more going on than some dead Indian guy," he protested. 

"Oh, yeah?" 

"You ought to know about it. You've been there." 

"Well, let's give it some thought: On the one hand, we have Michael; on the other, Ghandi. Michael. Ghandi. Hmmm...hard decision." 

Okay, who decided to make this pick on Michael day? Time to change the subject. "About your uncle. Since I'm apparently the complete opposite of Ghandi, want me to go beat him up for you?" 

"Who, Ghandi?" she asked, her lips curving upwards. 

"What? No, your uncle." He rolled his eyes, then continued, "Or I could make him real itchy. I did that to one of the jocks that ganged up on Max last year." 

"Not necessary, Spaceboy. But thank you." 

"I'm running out of ideas, then." Putting his arm out, he wrapped it around her shoulders and was relieved when she sank back against him. 

"I'll just avoid him until he leaves again," Maria said. "He can't possibly want to stay in Roswell any longer than he has to. Nobody ever does." She paused. "But if he hangs around my house, you might just find yourself with a roommate." 

"Couch is yours," Michael said promptly, slamming a door shut on the mental images that idea gave him, then added, "But you get stuck with Mrs. Evans's afghan this time." 

As he'd hoped, the memory of the delicately crocheted blanket brought a smile to her lips. "I wouldn't want to deprive you," she said in mock seriousness. 

"I think I'll survive." He paused. "If you want to get out of the house, you could always come help with the translation or something." 

"The translation? You mean that alien book thingy?" 

"Yeah. We've got some of it figured out. Max thinks it'll help with the whole save-our-home-planet mission." 

"What do you think?" 

"I don't know. It seems kinda pointless, but I don't think Max is gonna give up on it." 

"Maybe you shouldn't, either," Maria said slowly. 

"Whatever." He shrugged. "Not like I got that much to do for the next couple of weeks, anyway." 

A devilish glint appeared in her eyes. "Oh, I think I can come up with enough to keep you busy, Spaceboy," she drawled. 

If he wasn't careful, he was going to pull a muscle from following her mood swings. Somehow he didn't really care, though; this particular mood sounded promising. "Yeah? Like what?" he asked, leaning in towards her lips. 

Her mittened hand came up to caress his cheek. "Well, since you've proven yourself so good at it..." she began suggestively, then laughed and slid off the Jetta's hood, away from him. "I've got an entire house that could use a good cleaning." 

Darting away, she barely managed to keep out of his reach as he roared out an exasperated, "Maria!"  
  
  



	49. Chapter 49

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 49**_

Sprawled out across his couch, Michael watched as a thin shaft of light snuck over the top of his make-shift tie-dye curtain and played across the opposite wall. The forthcoming Christmas break stretched interminably out in front of him. 

He'd almost rather be in school, he thought, then abandoned that idea like a Tabasco-free cherry coke. There were worse things to do on a Monday morning in December than laze about at home. He could still be living in the trailer park with Hank instead of being in his own place, for one. Except he'd emancipated himself. And Nasedo had killed his erstwhile foster father. Michael well remembered the abuse and squalor of his life with Hank--it was something he'd never be able to forget. His life, abnormal as it was, was much better now. And though his current situation was at the cost of Hank's life, that hadn't been Michael's choice. He might regret it, but he wasn't going to reject his freedom because of it. 

Freedom to choose to sprawl on the couch and do absolutely nothing. Life could be a lot worse. 

Plus he still had the movie with Maria ahead of him. On the way home from the quarry, they'd settled on Wednesday for their date. Michael didn't even want to think about what he'd be watching on that afternoon. He wouldn't put it past Maria to choose the sappiest, most asinine piece of chick-flick sludge available, just because she could. 

But the date would serve as the official rekindling of their relationship--Michael suspected that Maria would consider their recent conversations and make-out sessions as unofficial and therefore not part of a relationship, although she'd sure seemed to enjoy the kissing part--and after that, he could spend as much time as he wanted with her. Hell, she'd said if her uncle hung around too long, she'd move right in. 

Yeah, like that was going to happen. Even if her mother didn't object to her seventeen-year-old daughter staying with a guy (not to mention a half-alien, semi-delinquent guy), Michael couldn't really picture Maria living in his apartment, not even on a temporary basis. Besides the fact that he kind of _liked_ living alone, found it safe--no, make that _comfortable_, it was a much better word--his place was too empty and drab to suit Maria. She was vibrant; she lived her life with the volume way, way up. Any place would need color, color and life and light, to fit her. 

He looked around. His place had none of that. 

Well, he might be able to supply one out of the three. Reaching out a hand, Michael closed his eyes and tried to focus his energy within. If he could duplicate that strange dichotomous concentration that he'd felt under Bob's tutelage... 

It wasn't working. What had Bob said? He had to think about it but not think about it. Concentrate, but not too much. Focus and distraction, all at the same time. He was just about to give it up as pointless when something inside jerked his brain half a thought to the left, and he opened his eyes to find he'd been successful. A small spark of bluish light--pure energy--shimmered in the air above him. 

Narrowing his eyes, he gave it a mental push, and it eddied through the air, moving closer to the wall. Another push, and it spun in a circle. He tried a third time but instead of moving through the air, this time the spark grew to about the size of a baseball. 

After a little experimentation, he found that by feeding it energy, he could finesse its size and brilliance. He could feel an uncustomary grin on his face. He'd done it. He was controlling his powers again, all by himself. He hadn't needed any help from Max or Isabel, Nasedo or Bob. This he'd done on his own. 

And he hadn't even blown anything up, either-- 

The sudden knock on the door, startling, scrambled his concentration, and the ball of energy streaked across the room and exploded the half-empty box of cereal he'd left on the counter. 

"Dammit!" he shouted, watching the sudden rain of cornflakes on the counter and floor. 

There was a pause, then another knock. With a growl, Michael stalked over to the door, barking, "What the hell is it?" as he unlocked it. 

It was already starting to swing open when he realized that the person he'd just blown up at was probably Maria. Max and Isabel wouldn't have needed to knock, they could just come in; and Maria was the only other person who ever came over. Somehow he knew she was going to take his little outburst the wrong way. He doubted she'd be in any mood for moving in, or anything else, now. 

But it wasn't Maria. Instead, the gangly form of Alex Whitman greeted him. "Morning," he said. 

"What's wrong?" Michael demanded, instantly on the alert. "Maria?" 

"Nothing's wrong," Alex interjected. "She's fine, as far as I know." 

"Then what're you doing here?" He probably sounded rude, but he didn't really care. He'd been minding his own business, making progress on his powers, and he hadn't asked for any interruptions. If there wasn't an emergency-- 

"It's Christmas vacation." 

"So?" Michael demanded. 

Alex didn't look the least bit phased. "So do I get to come in?" he asked mildly. Michael stood for a moment, giving him the eye, but it didn't seem to have any effect. Finally, he stepped aside and let his visitor enter, not sure whether or not he should be offended by Alex's lack of fear. 

Alex took several steps into the apartment before stopping to stare at the ruin of Michael's cereal box. To his horror, Michael felt himself flush. "I had an accident, okay?" he blustered, closing the door and leaning against it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he silently dared Alex to say anything about it. 

Either his mental challenge or his intent to intimidate--or both--failed, because Alex gave him a quick grin. "What, did you think your cereal box was a shapeshifter in disguise?" 

"No," Michael snapped. After a moment, he unbent enough to say, somewhat grudgingly, "I was playing with some energy. You...startled me." 

"Cool," was Alex's reply. He crossed over and plopped down on the far end of the couch. "Let's see it." 

"See what?" 

"You know, the energy. Do your stuff." 

Michael stared at him. He wasn't a trained monkey, performing on command. He could feel his jaw get tighter as he gritted his teeth. "What did you come over here for, Whitman?" he demanded. 

"I told you, it's Christmas vacation," Alex replied affably. 

"And I told you 'So?'" Michael shot back. 

"So I asked myself, what better to do with my vacation than hang with one of my reconstituted alien buddies? And I came up with--nothing." 

"You wanted to hang out. Here." 

"Yep." 

"Did Maria put you up to this?" Michael demanded, eyes narrowing. 

"Nope. Haven't seen her since she hauled you off after our gig yesterday. But she and Liz and I are having our traditional Girl's Night tonight." 

This diverted Michael's attention. "_You're_ having a _girl's_ night?" 

"Uh-huh," Alex said. "We've been doing it since fifth grade. First real day of vacation, we have a junk food and movie fest. It's tradition." 

Michael smirked; it was pretty damn funny that Alex was harmless enough to be considered one of the girls. Then again, Alex didn't seem bothered by this evidence of his feebleness. And, come to think of it, he was spending time with Maria... 

Maybe Michael should feel less amused and more envious. Maybe. 

But regardless, he was still suspicious about the other guy's presence. "Why are you really here?" he asked. The only reason he could come up with, besides Maria, was the other bossy female in his life. "Did Isabel send you?" 

For the first time, Alex looked affronted. "I'm not some puppy dog, you know. I don't leap to do everything Isabel says." 

Michael wasn't so sure about that. He'd seen the way Alex looked at Isabel: whipped, and they weren't even a couple. "You're still here 'cause of her," he said, shaking his head. "If she didn't send you, then you're here _about_ her." The explanation popped into his head. "Look, if you're here for advice on asking her out or getting her a Christmas present or something, you got the wrong guy. Talk to Max." 

Alex looked at him for a moment. "_You've_ got the wrong end of the proverbial stick there. I'm not here for Isabel--and if I needed advice about her, I'd talk to Maria and Liz; that's what having female friends is for." 

"Why are you here, then?" Michael demanded impatiently. How many times did he have to ask? 

"My two best friends in the world are girls, which is great; _they're_ great. And I spend time with the guys in the band, but other than that and whatever alien protection stuff we all do as a group, it's pretty much Liz and Maria. I know more about make-up and shoes than any straight male should. So I decided I need a guy friend." 

Michael let out a snort. "And you came to me? Whitman, you're even more pathetic than I thought." 

"Not the best way to start off a brand spanking new friendship--though there won't be any spanking involved, thanks--but I'm not counting you out yet." His tone was annoyingly cheerful. 

"Look, Whitman, you got yourself roped into the whole alien mess. And, okay, you've even been a help," Michael added grudgingly. "But from what I understand, real friends are supposed to have something in common. Something besides the alien crap, I mean." 

He firmly believed it, too. It had always bothered him, but he suspected that if they hadn't had the whole alien-hybrid thing in common, Max would have never been his friend, much less his best friend. Their secret had thrust them together, shielding them from outsiders. And now that there were others in on the secret, sometimes Michael worried that he and Max were losing what ties they had. 

He wasn't going to tell that to Max, though, much less to Alex Whitman. 

"You're one of Maria's best friends," he said. "That's it; she's all we got in common." 

"How do you know?" 

Michael raised his eyebrows at the challenge in Alex's voice. 

"So your friends are limited to a very small circle. So what? My circle isn't that much bigger. The Whits aside, a dodge-ball-playing computer geek isn't going to win many high school popularity contests. If you can afford to pass up the chance on a friendship, good for you. I can't." 

Michael was completely taken aback. He'd thought before that a friendship with Alex would be a valuable commodity, but he'd never expected to be offered it. He wasn't even sure he could keep up his end of things. But here Alex was, offering that friendship, not for Maria's sake, but for his own. 

He should latch on to it, and fast. But he wasn't quite sure how. 

He found his feet moving slowly to the couch. Sitting on the other end, he glanced over at Alex. 

"No getting sentimental on me, or any of that crap," he warned. 

"Gotcha." Alex grinned. "So let's see your powers in action."  
  
  
*****  


The heat of righteous indignation kept Maria more than adequately warm on the trek across town to Michael's apartment. It wasn't fair. This was supposed to be her vacation, at least from school, so she should be able to enjoy herself between shifts at the Crashdown. And she'd had plans with Liz and Alex, too, traditional Girls' Night plans, just like the three of them had made every vacation since the fifth grade. Liz had even wangled the lunch shift for herself and Maria, so they could spend the whole evening eating ice cream and watching part of Alex's growing DVD collection. 

But did any of that matter to her mother? No. She had decided, quite unfairly, that an impromptu 'family night' with someone who didn't even deserve to be thought of as family was more important than a long-standing tradition with two friends who were practically family themselves. It was totally unreasonable. 

And Michael had said, just last night, that she could talk to her mother about anything, now that the whole Czechoslovakian thing was out. Ha! He was so very, very wrong. And he deserved to hear all about it. 

Clomping extra-heavily up the stairs to his apartment, Maria held in a scream of frustration. If this was the way her whole vacation was going to go, she might as well be in school. At least there she wouldn't have to deal with unwanted reminders of the past, just with homework. Michael was going to hear all about that, too. 

Without a second thought, she marched right up to his apartment door. It was unlocked, and she barged right in, blurting, "Spaceboy, you are never going to believe--" 

What she saw brought her to a sudden halt. The whole apartment was in disarray, with the couch tilted onto its back in the center of the room and an assortment of Michael's possessions piled around like giant Lego building blocks. For a moment, she thought her heart had actually stopped beating. Then she saw him--no, _them_: Alex and Michael were sitting at the counter, surveying the chaos before them. Michael's right hand was outstretched. 

"What are you _doing?_" Maria burst out. 

Neither of them looked in her direction; they remained focused on the jumble that had been Michael's studio apartment. A flash of light caught the corner of Maria's eye, and she swung around just in time to see a glowing ball of light dart around the corner of the couch, pass under a bridge-like structure made of a shoebox, the couch cushions, and what looked like Michael's history textbook, and fly straight at her. With a startled cry, she ducked, but the ball of light circled crazily around her head. It then swooped up toward the ceiling and shattered into a shower of glistening fairy lights that sparkled, winking out of existence as they fell. 

"Seven point five," said Alex. 

"What? That was at least a nine!" Michael protested. 

"The fireworks display at the end was nice," Alex said, "but the arc around the couch was better last time, and you missed the chest of drawers completely." 

"I missed the chest of drawers, but I added in Maria. That makes it even." 

"Sorry. Seven-five is as high as I'm willing to go." 

Maria cleared her throat. "Hello? Would one of you at least care to acknowledge my presence?" 

At last they looked over at her. "Michael already did that--didn't you notice you were the finale of the light show?" Alex asked. 

Rolling her eyes, Maria said pointedly, "Hello, Alex. Hello, Michael. Nice to see you both." Not giving either one a chance to respond, she continued in a deep voice, "Hello, Maria. Nice to see you, too. I hope you weren't startled by the giant firefly zooming _around your head_." Her voice back in its normal register, she said, "Now what on earth is all this?" 

Alex grinned and gestured towards the mess. "It's an obstacle course." 

Wrinkling up her nose in consternation, Maria asked, "And you need an obstacle course why?" 

In response, Michael raised one eyebrow, then stuck his hand back out. Another ball of light circled around the couch before disappearing. "Practice," he said. 

"Practice?" she repeated, and then suddenly realized. "Oh my god, Michael, your powers! Your powers are working!" Rushing over, she flung her arms about him. 

"Yeah, I know," he said, trying to fend her off. "I was here." 

"But that's so good!" 

"It's okay. Now will you get off me?" 

Maria took a small step back, but stayed close enough to grab him again if she felt like it. Behind her, Alex cleared his throat dramatically. "You know, if the two of you want to be alone..." 

"No, silly," she laughed, "I just didn't expect to come over here and find this." 

"Why're you here, anyway?" Michael asked. "Thought you were forbidden from ever setting foot in my apartment again." 

"Oh!" In her excitement, she'd forgotten about that. She'd also forgotten why she'd come over in the first place. "If my mom is going to be unreasonable, I don't think there's any reason to follow her stupid rules. Besides, she'd have given in eventually. But that's not the important thing. Alex," she said, turning to him in distress, "I can't do Girls' Night." 

"How come?" 

"I have to do this totally stupid family thing," she complained, not wanting to get into the details. Alex didn't know about Uncle Teddy, after all. "Mom won't let me out of it." 

She heard Michael take a quick breath in, and gave him a glare. "I have to have _dinner_ with a certain _someone_," she said darkly. "And it's all your fault!" 

"My fault? What'd I do?" 

"You said I should talk to Mom about...about stuff. And when I try to, look what happens! I am never listening to you again, Michael Guerin. Your advice stinks." 

He had the nerve--the _gall_--to shrug. "It probably won't be that bad." 

"Easy for you to say; you won't be there!" she spat; then the stroke of genius hit her. "Yes, you will." 

"I will what?" 

"Be there. If Mom can invite someone to dinner, then so can I." 

Slipping of the stool, Michael backed away as far as the counter would allow. "No." 

"Michael--" she began. 

"No way am I having dinner with you. The last time was bad enough, with just your mother. This would be worse." 

"That's what I'm saying! That's why you _have_ to come." 

A voice interrupted. "Far be it for me to butt in, but what are you talking about?" Maria swung around, startled. She'd actually forgotten Alex was there. 

"Family stuff--" she began. 

"She's crazy, is all," Michael said at the same time. 

"What?" she gasped. "I am not crazy, Michael! If you think--" 

"Whatever," he said, cutting her off. "No dinner." 

"That's not fair!" 

"Hey, she's your mother." 

"Did I or did I not say we would share her?" 

"Did you tell _her_ that?" Michael shot back. 

"Okay, I think this is where I head out," Alex put in. "If you need help reassembling your apartment, I can come back later, Michael." 

"Why? What time is it?" Maria asked, grabbing Alex's wrist to look at his watch. "Oh my god, I'm going to be late for work!" she cried out. 

Michael didn't even bother to try and hide the relieved smirk on his face. He probably thought he was going to wiggle out of it, but he was wrong. "Oh, no, Spaceboy, you're coming with me," Maria ordered, grabbing a handful of his t-shirt. "Get your jacket, mister." She turned to Alex. "Want some lunch, Alex? Galaxy Melt's on me." 

He looked at her, then at Michael. When he looked back at her, a smile was creeping onto his lips. "Sure," he said, slipping into his jacket. "Gotta watch out for my man, here." 

Giving up waiting for Michael to move, Maria grabbed his jacket from its spot on the counter and tossed it at him. "Come _on_, Spaceboy. I'm already late." 

He gave in with what was for Michael remarkable grace: he glared at her for a moment, then shook his head and stalked out of the apartment. With a pleased smile she followed, Alex by her side. As Michael locked the apartment door behind them, Maria and Alex headed for the stairs. 

"So, Alex," Maria said, tucking her hand companionably into the crook of her friend's arm, "Just when did _my_ boyfriend become _your_ man?"  
  
  
*****  


If Michael hadn't known better, he would've thought it was a setup. The three of them arrived--only seven minutes late, to Maria's audible relief--to find the Crashdown already hosting some familiar faces. Max was at the counter, chatting with Liz as she filled soda glasses, and Kyle and Tess sat together in a booth towards the back. 

"Michael! Alex! Come sit with us," Tess called across the room. Michael was a little surprised at Alex's inclusion; the last he knew, Tess wasn't that big on the human element. Then again, she was sitting with Kyle Valenti...Narrowing his eyes, he peered at the couple in the booth. They looked awfully...friendly. 

"Well, don't just stand there, Michael," Maria admonished, then reached up to press her lips fleetingly against his. "We'll talk more when I get a break." Heading to the back room, she disappeared behind the swinging door. 

Trying to pretend he hadn't just been kissed in front of everyone, Michael nodded to Max, then followed Alex over to the booth and slid in beside Tess. "Hey," he grunted out. 

"Guerin," Kyle said with a nod. 

"Valenti," he responded. 

"Whitman," Alex chimed in. "So how's it going?" 

"Pretty well," Tess said with an excited smile. "Kyle and I were just talking about Christmas. Nasedo wasn't big on celebrating, you know, so this is my first..." 

She kept talking, but Michael purposely let his attention stray. If he wanted all that Christmas crap, he could talk to Isabel. He didn't even know why he was here; he shouldn't have let Maria drag him out of his apartment. Except for the alien quest and the movie date, it had been his intention to hole up and not set foot outside until his face was back to normal. And now that it looked like he was going to be permanently scarred, that meant pretty much forever. 

He shouldn't even be here now. In fact, he would just leave, except he _was_ kind of hungry, and his cupboards were pretty much bare now that his last box of cornflakes was dust. He'd have to go to the grocery store, a chore he'd always hated. It was too much like shopping. When he could, he got Isabel to go for him-- 

The soft clink of glass against a hard surface brought him out of his fugue, and he looked up. Liz placed a drink in front of him and then fished a bottle of Tabasco sauce out of her apron pocket. "Cherry coke," she said, "and root beer for you, Alex. Want your regular?" 

Alex chuckled, "Do you even have to ask?" 

Liz laughed with him as she made a notation on her order pad. "And you, Michael?" 

"Don't order too much," Maria said as she joined them, dressed for work. "You have to save room for dinner." 

"I'm not going," Michael reminded her, then turned to Liz and ordered. "Will Smith burger and fries. And a big slab of cake," he added, looking at Maria. "Chocolate if you got it." 

Her lips curving upwards, Liz wrote the order down, then turned to Kyle and Tess. "Can I get you two anything else?" 

"We're good," Tess said politely, and Liz headed off to put the order in. 

Unfortunately, Maria didn't go with her. "Michael, you _have_ to--" 

"No way," he said, cutting her off. "Maybe I got plans." 

"Plans?" she asked derisively. "Like what?" 

"Just plans," he said firmly, then busied himself with adding hot sauce to his soda. And if his plans were to sit on the couch and do nothing, well, that was his business, wasn't it? He actually heard her say "Arrrgh!"--something he thought was limited to pirates--before she stormed off. 

There was silence at the table. He looked up to find three pairs of eyes fixed on him. 

"What?" 

"Michael," Tess said, "Maybe now isn't the best time to be fighting with Maria." 

"Why not? What's going on?" he demanded, slipping instantly into action mode. 

Tess took a sip of the coffee in front of her before she answered. "Well, aren't you in a rather...delicate stage of negotiations?" 

Negotiations? There were no negotiations. Maria'd said come to dinner, and he'd said no. End of story. 

"She means you shouldn't screw things up right before your date," Kyle announced. 

"My what?" Michael said sharply. 

"Your trip to the movies," Tess put in. "It's on Wednesday, right?" 

"For god's sake, does the whole world have to know my business?" Michael exploded. 

Alex shook his head. "Michael, who's the other person going on this date?" 

Duh. "Maria, but--" 

Oh. 

Well, that kind of explained how the whole world knew, but they'd just decided on Wednesday last night. Did the Maria-grapevine work that fast? 

Probably. 

"Whatever," he mumbled, and set his jaw. If he didn't say anything else, they'd move on to some other topic of conversation, right? 

Right? 

It wasn't even partially true. By the time Liz set his lunch down in front of him with a quiet, "Here you go, Michael," he had heard so much discussion about his upcoming date that he almost wished it wasn't going to happen. Yeah, he wanted the 'spend time with Maria' part, but did everyone _have_ to force their opinion on him? He hadn't even asked what they thought. 

Of course, the last time he'd asked for dating advice, he'd totally screwed up Max's instructions. This time he wasn't going to try things Max's style; he was determined to handle the date with Maria in his own way. 

God help them both. 

One thing was the same, though, as that last time. He still wanted to make Maria happy. He just had to figure out how for himself. 

Turning his head, he watched Maria as she loaded up on plates and delivered them briskly to a table of old people. One of them said something to her, and he could hear her laugh. That was the way Maria should always look. Not the hokey--and rather insulting, considering--uniform, but the laughter. She looked like she'd forgotten all her worries for a moment. Squeezing his eyes shut, Michael fixed her image in his mind's eye for later drawing inspiration. 

The others were back to discussing Christmas plans when he opened his eyes again. Alex looked over at him, a question in his eyes, but Michael just shrugged and picked up his untouched burger. 

He was finishing up his generously-sliced portion of chocolate cake when Maria rushed up to the table. "Tell Liz I had to take my break," she said, the words rushing from her mouth even faster than usual. Then she ran for the back room. Michael wasn't sure he could've moved any faster. 

"What's that about?" asked Kyle. 

Michael frowned. It couldn't be break time yet; Maria'd been at work for less than an hour. Plus she'd said she wanted to talk to him on her break, probably to try and wangle him into the DeLuca family dinner again. 

Looking around the busy restaurant for Liz, he spotted just why Maria had taken off. 

Dammit. Trouble.  
  
  



	50. Chapter 50

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 50**_

The man was standing by the cash register, looking around just as Michael had done seconds ago. His eyes met Michael's, and he frowned before heading in Michael's direction. It only took a moment to reach the table. 

"Where is Maria?" Theodore Laterro demanded, not bothering with any greeting. 

Michael didn't really care; he wasn't one for false pleasantries. He gave a disinterested shrug and took a noisy slurp from his glass. 

"Her mother said she was working today. So where is she?" 

Michael purposely didn't answer him. Alex spoke up before he could say anything else. "Hi. I'm Alex Whitman, a friend of Maria's. And you are...?" 

Laterro ignored his outstretched hand, but he answered, "Her uncle." 

Throwing a surprised glance in Michael's direction, Alex repeated, "Her uncle? Oh. Nice to meet you. I didn't know--" 

"She's not here," Michael said curtly. 

"Listen, you little punk--" 

"She's really not here," Alex put in. "She was, but the owner sent her on a delivery." 

The man looked at Alex for a moment, then nodded. Of course he believed him; Alex had that kind of face, after all. Michael felt a momentary pang of envy: people believed Alex implicitly; Michael they always mistrusted. Not that he wanted anybody's trust anyway, anybody outside their own group. 

"When she gets back, tell her I was looking for her," Laterro ordered. 

"Sure, no problem," said Alex with a friendly smile. 

The four of them watched as he turned on his heel and strode out of the café. "Okay," drawled Kyle. "Want to explain what _that_ was about?" 

"I don't know," Alex replied. "Michael?" 

"Ask Maria. She'll tell you if she wants you to know." He stared across the table at Alex. "So how come you lied?" 

"I didn't like his attitude." 

"You didn't..." Michael repeated, trailing off. He'd known Alex was loyal, but he hadn't realized he was perceptive. 

"Nope. Maybe I've been hanging with you Czechoslovakians too long, but he didn't seem entirely on the up-and-up to me. Plus, in seven years Maria's never mentioned an uncle." 

"The uncle part is real," Michael admitted. "But I don't think she wants to talk to him." 

"We kind of got that when she did the 440 to the back," Kyle said. 

Tess spoke up. "Maybe you should go talk to her, Michael." 

More unasked-for advice, although this time Michael actually considered it. But Liz and Alex were both there, and maybe there was something else he could do about the situation. 

Because Alex had been right; Maria's uncle wasn't on the up-and-up, as Alex put it. Why else would he try to corner her at work? They were supposed to see each other at the dinner Maria was dreading. What was so important it couldn't wait until then? Or what couldn't be said in front of Mrs. DeLuca? 

He was up to something, all right, and Michael was going to find out what. 

"Tell Maria it's safe to come out again," he told Alex. "I gotta jet." 

Sliding out of the booth, he found Liz and thrust the money to cover his lunch into her hand, then wheeled around and headed for Max before she could say anything. 

His best friend was seated at the counter, stirring the remnants of an Alien Blast with his straw. He looked up and swung around as Michael approached. 

"Hey, Maxwell," Michael greeted him, then got straight to the point. "Where's Isabel?"  
  
  
*****  


When he got to the Evans house, he headed straight for the back door. There was no point in using his usual mode of entry, Max's window, with Max at the Crashdown, and he wasn't going to chance being caught in Isabel's room if her mother was home. Not now that Mrs. Evans seemed to think he was some kind of threat to her girl-child. She wasn't quite as scary as Mrs. DeLuca in that matter, but she was bad enough. 

If he was lucky, Isabel would be the only one home anyway, and he could do a quick in-and-out and be on his way. 

With typical disdain, good luck passed him by. Mrs. Evans herself answered his knock. 

"Oh, Michael," she said. 

"Is Isabel here?" 

"Isabel?" She sounded surprised, but then again, he was supposed to be Max's friend. "No, she ran out for a few minutes to pick up some more cinnamon red-hots. We're baking Christmas cookies," she added. There was a quick beat, then she asked, "Would you like to come in and wait? She should be back soon." 

No, he didn't want to come in and wait. But he did need to talk to Isabel, and what was his other alternative? If he lurked around outside until she showed up, Mrs. Evans might call the cops. 

"Uh...okay." He followed her into the kitchen, praying for Isabel to show up fast. At Mrs. Evans's urging, he took a seat at the kitchen table. 

"Help yourself to a cookie," she told him as she went back to her mixing bowl. "The gingerbread men should still be warm." 

Michael reached out for one, just to give his hands something to do. He studied it; it was a little lopsided, with raisin eyes and buttons and a smile made of some kind of red stuff he couldn't identify. It could be worse; if Mrs. DeLuca had made it, she probably would've added antennas and huge alien eyes. But this cookie looked just like he'd expect a traditional homemade gingerbread man to look. Its crooked mouth smiled inanely at him. Superior. Suddenly angry with its false cheer, he took a savage bite of its head. He felt immediately better. 

That is, until he glanced up to see Mrs. Evans's eyes upon him. "'S good," he mumbled through the mouthful of cookie, and swallowed. 

"So, Michael," Mrs. Evans said as she went back to measuring flour into her bowl. "How are you liking living alone? Max said you had your place fixed up pretty well, but do you need anything?" 

"No, I'm okay," he said, then as an afterthought, "Thanks." 

The only sound for a moment was the soft clink of the measuring cup against the side of the flour container. Without looking up, Mrs. Evans said, "I see you're still sporting the temporary tattoo that Max and Isabel wore last week. I thought Spirit Week was over?" Her voice rose at the end, making it a question. 

Hunching down into the chair, Michael began to regret showing up here in the first place. He at least should have sat on the other side of the table; then the brand wouldn't be so obvious. "I guess I got a lotta school spirit," he grunted. Hopefully that would put paid to the subject. 

Evidently she wasn't finished with him yet, though. Michael didn't know what it was about the female sex that made them talk all the time; it was as if they had a biological need for conversation or something. Maybe he should ask Liz about it. But Mrs. Evans kept talking, and what she said next was even worse than asking about his apartment, or even the brand. 

"Isabel showed me the sketch you did of her," she commented. "It's very good. Do you enjoy art?" 

Oh, hell. Why did Isabel have to show it around? Hadn't he told her not to make a big deal over it? "Uh, well, they made me take this art class last year," he said. He hadn't done much in class but draw geodesic domes, though. He'd always thought art was kind of stupid, a waste of time. He'd never so much as lifted a pencil to draw until the flashes he'd gotten from Atherton's key had invaded his mind, pressuring him to get the image in his head onto paper, and then onto canvas. He'd been surprised how easy it came to him once his fingers got used to the feel of holding a pencil for anything more than the messy scrawl that passed as his writing. 

And once he'd started, he found himself with a startling urge to draw. Mostly pictures of Maria, but of anything else his eyes lit on, too. That's how he'd come to do the drawing of Isabel in the first place. 

"You should take more art classes, then. I think you've got a lot of talent." 

Michael was surprised at just how pleased he was by Mrs. Evans's remark. It was so rare that anyone said anything complimentary about him. To be honest with himself, he didn't really give them reason to be complimentary. Besides, what did Mrs. Evans know about art, anyway? She could just be being nice to one of her son's friends. 

Still, it felt good. "Thanks," he said, and was rewarded with a warm smile, maybe the warmest Mrs. Evans had ever bestowed on him. It was eerily reminiscent of Isabel at her least somber, which was weird because they weren't even related, not by blood. The shapes of their faces weren't remotely similar, Michael thought, narrowing his eyes as he studied the woman before him, but the smiles were the same. 

"What is it?" Mrs. Evans asked. "Do I have flour on my face or something?" She reached up to brush her hand across her cheek. 

"You and Iz have the same smile," Michael blurted. 

The smile grew warmer, if that was even possible. "Thank you, Michael. That's the nicest compliment I've gotten in a long time." She sounded especially pleased. 

He hadn't intended it as a compliment; it was the truth. But it was probably best not to explain that. He had a feeling that he'd just flounder around and feel stupid, anyway. Instead, he took another bite of gingerbread man, an arm and part of a shoulder this time. It wasn't bad. Bland, to his hybrid tongue, but definitely edible. 

Isabel's entrance saved him from having to make any more conversation. "I'm back," she announced as she entered the kitchen, grocery bag in hand. "Did you--Michael," she interrupted herself. Stuffing the last of the cookie in his mouth, he rose to his feet, eager to get moving on his plan. 

"I need to talk to you," he said bluntly. 

"Oh...sure," Isabel answered. She turned to her mother, who was watching the two of them curiously. "Mom, we're going into the living room, okay?" 

She set the bag down on the counter and led the way out of the kitchen, Michael following closely on her heels. "We shouldn't talk here. She might overhear," he said. 

"She's too busy to eavesdrop," Isabel told him, and was proved right by the sound of the mixer starting up in the kitchen. "And if she asks, I'll just tell her you needed advice about your girlfriend or something." She sat down on the couch. "So what's going on? Does this have anything to do with your mood lately?" 

He ignored the last comment. "I need to know if you can dreamwalk somebody you don't know," he said as he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He'd made a detour on his way from the Crashdown, specifically to get it from his apartment. "If this will work," he added, handing it to her. 

Isabel unfolded the slightly wrinkled page and smoothed it out on her knee. "This is the sketch of the man Max saw at the Crashdown," she said. "Maria's uncle." 

"Yeah. I need to know why he's in Roswell. What he's up to. Can you do it?" he pressed. 

She frowned. "What do you mean, what he's up to? You don't think he knows about us, do you?" 

"No. But he's up to something. I can feel it. Hell," he added at her doubtful look, "even Alex can feel it." 

She rolled her eyes upward and shook her head slightly. "I believe you, Michael. I don't need the Alex Whitman seal of approval." 

"Well, then?" 

"I don't know if a sketch will work, but I'll try it." 

"Good." When she didn't move from the couch, he barked, "Come on, then." 

"Michael," she said dryly, "it's the middle of the day. I can't dreamwalk him if he's not asleep." 

Oh, yeah. "I know that," he cut in. "I just..." He just needed to know, dammit. 

"I'll try it tonight," she said, and he forced himself to relax. 

"Okay." 

Then the expression on her face grew speculative, and Michael felt himself grow tense again. "But there's a condition." 

"What?" he asked warily. She'd never needed conditions to exert her dreamwalking abilities before. She hadn't ever needed much of an excuse, either. 

"I will do this for you," Isabel said carefully, "if you will let me pick you out a new outfit for your date with Maria." 

"No way," he snapped. He should have known Iz would try to take advantage of this, would butt in on his plans for the date, such as they were. Everyone else had shoved advice at him; she wasn't going to be an exception. 

She waved her hand airily, dismissing his objection. "Think of it as a 'Congratulations on getting back together' gift." 

"I don't want a 'Congratulations on getting back together' gift," he said, mimicking her. Nor did he want a Christmas present, which was what this really was. Did Isabel think she was fooling him? He didn't want any charity. She should know better. 

"Then think of it as a gift for Maria. I know her style can be kind of eccentric, but at least she has one. You don't want her to be seen with you and your total lack of style, do you?" 

Maria would deal with his style; she always had before. "No new clothes, Isabel." His voice was firm. 

Hers was just as firm. "Take it or leave it, Michael." 

Dammit, she was serious. Maybe the whole dreamwalking thing wasn't that important. They didn't even know if Iz could do it from a sketch. If it wasn't even going to work, why put up with blackmail? 

Just how badly did he want to know about the guy? 

"I am _not_ going shopping with you," he warned. "You're not getting me anywhere near a store." 

"But if I bring it to you, you'll wear it?" 

Michael felt no lessening of his trepidation. "I get veto power," he countered. 

She shook her head. "You'd automatically veto anything I brought over, just on principle." 

The notion had occurred to him. And he didn't like the idea of agreeing blind--he could end up looking and feeling like an idiot. He wouldn't put it past Iz to put him in a necktie or something, and he didn't do ties, especially for a casual movie date. It'd probably choke him. And if she-- 

She must have been reading his mind--not that he thought that was really possible. "I promise I won't get anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just something a step or two nicer than your t-shirt collection. Something Maria will like, to show you made an effort." She waited for a response; when she didn't get one, her smile faded. "Don't you trust me, Michael?" 

She would have to put it on that basis, he thought, running a hand over his face. But she actually sounded disappointed. Hurt, even. He didn't think she was faking it either. And he would trust her with his life; why was it so hard to trust her with this? 

"Okay," he said reluctantly. "But if Maria laughs at me, you're gonna owe me. Big." 

The smile reappeared instantly, so much like her mother's. "She won't laugh at you, I promise," she said with a confidence he wished he shared. Rising gracefully to her feet, she moved towards the doorway, ushering him from the room. "I'll go shopping tonight and bring things over tomorrow for a test run." 

Test run? He hadn't signed on for that. "Iz--" 

"It's okay," she said, ignoring his discomfort. "The mall is open late every night until Christmas. I'll have plenty of time to find just the right thing." 

By now they were back in the kitchen. "Mom, where's the measuring tape?" 

Mrs. Evans looked up from the dough she was spooning onto a cookie sheet. "It's in the junk drawer, I think. Why?" 

Staring intently at Isabel, Michael gave her a silent command to keep quiet. She had practically read his mind before; she could just do it again. 

She didn't. "I'm helping Michael get some new clothes. He and Maria--Maria DeLuca, that's his girlfriend--have a date Wednesday, and he wants to look nice for her." 

Michael glared at her. He didn't want anything of the sort--this had been forced on him. Isabel just grinned at him and rummaged in a drawer. "I need to get his measurements," she said, then held the tape up triumphantly. 

"Come anywhere near me with that thing and you'll be swallowing it, Iz," he grated out, not caring how her mother took it. He'd put up with enough already. 

"I'm just kidding, Michael," Isabel laughed. "I think I can approximate the right sizes without this. You're not _that_ oddly-shaped." He glared at her some more, and she gave him an actual smirk before turning to her mother. "I think he needs some color, don't you, Mom? Something in a nice Christmas red?" she teased. 

Michael sighed. Forget Maria laughing at him; Isabel already owed him one just for this. 

"--or maybe a nice shade of lavender?"  
  
  



	51. Chapter 51

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 51**_

"More cauliflower, Maria?" 

Shaking her head, Maria went back to pushing the food on her plate into piles. She was in no mood for this, not that she'd ever be. Her mother could make her come to this dinner, but she couldn't make her eat. 

She wasn't hungry. And her throat felt tight enough that she wasn't sure she could swallow a bite, even if she'd wanted to. 

How could her mother act like nothing was wrong, like they were one big happy family? 

Sure, Uncle Teddy was doing everything right. He'd shown up on their front stoop, dressed in a sport coat and tie and carrying not only a bottle of wine, but also a bouquet of flowers for each of them. If it had been anyone else, Maria would have been excited; she was not a girl who got flowers every day, and these were very pretty, she admitted to herself. If Michael had brought them--but Michael would never give her flowers like these. If for some bizarre reason he had the unlikely urge to give her flowers, he'd be more likely to scrounge weeds from someone's yard than go to an actual florist. 

Besides, the few gifts he'd given her were way better than flowers. Maybe not the generic shampoo he'd given her on their disastrous double-date with Max and Liz last year, although she still had that tucked away in a drawer, but there were other things. Better things. The drawing he'd done of her, that her mother had framed, was hanging on her bedroom wall. When she looked at it, she didn't see herself; she saw Michael in every curve and line. And the napkin holder he'd made last year had pride of place on her nightstand. Those things would last far longer than any bouquet. 

And she'd had the crystal he'd given her, too. She'd carried it with her constantly, until she'd lost her temper and thrown it back in his face. She regretted that now; more than any of his other gifts, the crystal had felt like him. It vibrated with Michael-flavored energy. So much that it had led Bob right to her in his search for Michael... 

She sighed. What was it about uncles, anyway? Did they all suck, like Bob and Uncle Teddy? 

Giving up on the plate before her, she set her fork down. Maybe she could worm her way out of the rest of this meal. Certainly her mother and uncle wouldn't notice she was gone; they'd kept up a running conversation without any help from her. 

Unfortunately, the clink of stainless steel on dinnerware caught their attention, and they both looked at her. 

"You've been very quiet this evening," Uncle Teddy observed jovially. 

Maria gave a small shrug. Like he would have any idea. Maybe she was always this quiet. She wasn't, but he had no way to know. 

"So how is school treating you? You're what, a sophomore now?" 

Maria rolled her eyes. The man had no clue. But her mother gave her a pointed glance that Maria had no problem whatsoever interpreting. "Junior," she corrected with minimal obedience. 

"Ah," Uncle Teddy answered, nodding his head wisely. "Have you started thinking about college yet?" 

College? What with the periodic alien emergencies, she wasn't even sure she'd survive to graduate high school. Plus her grades were okay, but nowhere like Liz's. Chances of an academic scholarship were slim, and her mother could hardly put her through college just on earnings from the shop. "Not really," she said. 

"We've still got some time to deal with that, thank goodness," Amy put in with a chuckle. "Sometimes I can hardly believe how fast she's growing up." 

Maria stared at her. Was her mother trying to make her feel like a five-year-old, or what? 

Uncle Teddy covered the ensuing pause. "So," he said a little too smoothly, "tell me about this boyfriend of yours." 

"What, Michael?" Maria blurted, startled. 

Her uncle looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Do you have more than one boyfriend?" 

"No, no, just the one. Just Michael." Who should have been there to answer questions for himself, except he'd skipped out of the Crashdown while she'd been in the back, and had been nowhere to be found after her shift was over. She'd left a very succinct message on his answering machine about it, too. 

"How long have you been seeing each other?" her uncle pressed. 

"About a year or so, off and on," she shot back. "Why do you even care?" 

"I'm just curious. I've got quite a few years to catch up on." 

She didn't particularly care if he caught up or not. He wasn't a part of her life, hadn't been for over a decade, and she wasn't going to let him start now. She definitely wasn't going to let him become part of Michael's. 

But that wasn't going to stop her from taking her shots where she could. "Well, then, we'll make sure you get an invitation to the wedding," she said, almost curdling from the amount of saccharine in her voice. 

He took the bait. "You're getting married?" he said, clearly aghast. Turning to his sister, he barked, "Amy, she's a teenager!" 

"Don't worry," her mother soothed. "She's kidding you; they're just dating. There is no wedding, is there, Maria?" 

It was a command, not a question, and Maria bridled under it. "Maybe," she muttered. She and Michael could barely stay together for two weeks in a row before something broke them up; marriage was hardly an issue. Maybe in a few years, though... 

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth while she contemplated the idea. She didn't have a lot of faith in marriage. It was fragile, more of a convenience to be discarded when no longer wanted than an institution. She wasn't sure she'd ever want to buy into its false promises, and certainly not at seventeen. 

Still, she couldn't imagine a time when she wouldn't want Michael in her life. Thank god she didn't need marriage to have him; she suspected he'd be just as leery of it as she was. Maybe more so. But they didn't need it; they were already permanently connected by their bond. They'd stay the way they were now: fighting some, making up a lot. And someday when they were ready, they'd move on. Not to marriage, but to something...not so breakable. Something that built on the promise of those steamy encounters last year. They'd backed off for the time being, first because of all that was going on, and second because they were trying to build a real relationship, not just a grope-fest, no matter how good it felt. When it was natural for both of them, it would happen. 

She smiled. Part of her didn't want to wait. 

"Where did you meet him?" she heard Uncle Teddy ask. Again with the questioning. The smile fell from her lips. Way to break into a promising fantasy, Ted. 

"Around," she evaded. 

"They're in school together, and Michael used to work at the Crashdown," her mother said in an obvious attempt to smooth things over. 

"Used to? Did they fire him?" 

"No!" Maria said indignantly. "He quit." He quit so he wouldn't have to see her all last summer, but she wasn't about to mention that. 

"So he's a quitter," her uncle mused aloud. 

All right--that was quite enough. She'd made an effort to be civil for her mother's sake, but no more. "What? You don't even know him, okay? What gives you the right--" 

"Well, just look at him! He's not even out of high school, and he's already sporting a tattoo. He's probably in a gang--" 

Her mother interrupted him before Maria could throw her fully-loaded plate at his head. "Enough, Teddy! There's no need to be insulting. I know Michael, and I fully approve of his seeing Maria, so that's all there is to it. If you want to take issue with that, you can keep it to yourself." 

He backed off, finally, putting his hands up. "Hey, I'm just trying to make sure the guy is worthy of my niece, that's all." 

"He is," Maria said quite definitely. She caught her mother's eye and mouthed, "Thanks," in her direction. 

"I made a lemon pound cake for dessert," her mother said, clearly changing the subject. "Maria, why don't you go bring it in?" 

Not hesitating to take the proffered escape, Maria darted for the kitchen and took a moment to lean her head against the refrigerator door. It did little to cool her off, however. She still felt like bashing her uncle's face in. She grimaced. And people thought Michael was the violent one. 

Sighing, she pushed herself upright and headed for the phone. 

Of course, there was no answer at Michael's. He was either out, probably to avoid her, or purposely not picking up--also to avoid her. She debated calling Liz, but quickly discarded the idea. She didn't need to have her current ordeal rubbed in her face. Liz wouldn't do it on purpose, of course, but it would be hard to avoid. Maria should be there with her best friends, partway through the first film in an Alex-arranged double or triple feature, not hiding out in her own kitchen. 

It wouldn't have been quite so bad if Michael had just given in and come to dinner instead of bailing on her. If he'd been there, her uncle wouldn't have been so insulting right to Michael's face, right? Not when he was trying to play the good ol' family man, an act that was not fooling Maria. 

Although she really would have liked to see Michael's expression when he heard her mother stand up for him. She had a feeling he didn't hear that kind of thing often enough. She did what she could, but he was so stubborn in resisting any of that 'soppy emotional crap', as he liked to put it. It was stupid, though. After all, she wasn't going to fall for some loser, was she? Wasn't that proof positive that Michael was special, no matter how hard he tried to hide it? 

With another sigh, she gave the back door one wistful glance, then grabbed dessert plates and the cake and headed back into the dungeon.  
  
  
*****  


Michael leaned his head against the brick of the building and took a deep breath before slowly inching out to peer around the corner. He was relieved to find no one in sight...at least no one he knew. He was pretty sure he was safe from Maria and Isabel; the former was at the dinner he'd avoided and the latter was off at the mall shopping for the new, very much unwanted additions to his wardrobe that would probably make him look--and feel--like an idiot. But he could run across any of the others, even Sheriff Valenti or Mr. and Mrs. Evans, and he didn't want to have to explain his current activities. They looked too suspicious. 

Still, he was in the clear so far. Hunching down into his jacket, he oozed around the corner and down the sidewalk, hoping his run of luck would continue and that he could get through his self-appointed mission unseen and unnoticed, at least by anyone that mattered. Mere seconds later, he pulled open a glass-front door and slid inside.  
  
  
*****  


The very second the door opened, Maria flung herself at Alex, who let out an "Oof!" as her arms went around him. "I thought I was never going to get here!" she burst out, then danced past him into the foyer. "So how far have you gotten? What are we watching?" She held up a Tupperware container as she entered the living room. "Hi, Liz! I brought pound cake." 

"Maria? I thought you couldn't make it tonight," Liz said, a welcoming smile on her face. 

"I couldn't, and I didn't, but then Mom relented, so here I am." Placing the cake on the coffee table next to a half-empty pizza box, a bowl of taco chips and a bag of jelly beans, she dropped her jacket on the back of the couch and plopped down next to Liz. "So what are we watching?" she asked again. 

"Bette Davis," Alex put in smoothly. "We're halfway through _All About Eve_, then we've got _Now, Voyager_ for you ladies and then my personal favorite, _What Ever Happened to Baby Jane_." He sat in an overstuffed chair, propping his feet up on the coffee table, and reached for the remote, but he didn't push any buttons. At least not on the remote control. 

"How was dinner with your uncle?" he asked. 

"Interminable," Maria said, ignoring the fact that in reality she'd only been stuck there for about an hour. "The man has no concept of making himself scarce when he's not wanted." 

"That bad?" Liz said with sympathy. 

"You have no idea," Maria answered. "I don't know why he had to show up now, after ten years." 

"I thought you said your mother had been looking for him," Alex reminded her. "Once we finally got you to tell us about it." 

"Yeah," Maria admitted, a rush of guilt overtaking her. "I don't know why I never talked about it. It just...I mean, I hate the guy, okay?" 

"Well, it's not like you have to adopt him. You don't have enough room at your house, anyway. I can't see you spending all night on the couch...unless you had, shall we say, extra-terrestrial company," he said, grinning. Maria tossed a jelly bean at his head; he intercepted it and popped it into his mouth. 

"It doesn't matter any more, I guess. He's a jerk, but he's not going to be sticking around much longer, I don't think." 

"He's not staying for Christmas?" asked Liz. 

"No, thank god. He's got plans or something with friends. They're welcome to him," she added, only partially under her breath. "Hey, are we going to sit around and talk about my lame uncle, or are we gonna watch a movie?" 

Grabbing a handful of jelly beans, she relaxed back into the deep softness of the couch cushions as Alex restarted the movie. Now this, she thought, was a much better way to spend her Christmas vacation.  
  
  
*****  


Concentrating fiercely, Michael didn't hear the approaching footsteps in the hallway. It wasn't until the door swung open with a crash that he was jolted back to reality. 

"Shit!" he yelped. Glancing swiftly around, he was relieved to see that there was nothing incriminating in plain sight. "Didn't hear you knock," he groused, staring pointedly at her. 

"My hands were full," Isabel answered smoothly. Full hands hadn't kept her from using her powers on his door lock, Michael noted. She set the bags she was carrying on the counter. "What are you doing?" she asked. 

"Practicing." He held up the empty Tabasco bottle and concentrated. The clear glass turned an opaque green color, without even cracking. 

"That's great!" she said with a smile. "Have you tried changing its shape yet?" 

"Not so good at that," Michael admitted with a gesture at the molten blob that used to be a coke can. "Need more practice. But I haven't blown anything up yet." 

"Good. Work on these next," she ordered, picking up a scuffed boot from the corner and lofting it towards him. 

"What'm I s'posed to do with this?" 

"Clean it up, of course." When he scowled, she laid on the pressure. "It's either your powers or half a case of shoe polish and a ton of elbow grease. You can't wear those things on your date when they're in that shape; they'd ruin the whole effect." 

He deliberately tossed the boot to the floor. "Forget the date. Did you dreamwalk Maria's uncle?" 

"Shoes first." 

"C'mon, Iz, spill it!" 

She sighed and sat gingerly down on the couch next to him. "Yes, I dreamwalked him. The sketch worked--not as well as a photo, but I got through." 

"Well, what does he want? Why's he here?" Michael demanded. 

Isabel took a deep breath, then said, "Money." 

"Money?" Michael repeated. "Why come to Roswell, then? Maria and her mom don't have much." 

"I think he's pretty desperate, Michael," Isabel admitted. "He was dreaming about some guys beating him up. I think he owes them or something." 

"Like bookies?" Michael asked, a sudden suspicion flooding through him. 

Isabel nodded. "Maybe. It wasn't really clear, though; he could have been dreaming about owing back taxes or something." 

"I think the IRS puts you in jail, not the hospital." 

"It was a dream. They're not always straightforward." 

"Anything else?" At her hesitation, he pressed, "What else, Iz?" 

She gave a half-laugh. "Nothing pertinent. He just seems to have a thing for redheads. Lots of them...I got out at that point." She shrugged; Michael wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or disgust, or maybe a combination of both. 

He had a feeling there was a little more to the dream than she'd described, but she wasn't talking. Fair enough. Probably wasn't anything more than your average fantasy anyway, which was definitely not something he wanted to talk about with Isabel. 

But the other part was much more interesting. Hadn't Maria mentioned something about her uncle and gambling? If he was desperate for money, like Isabel thought, he was pretty much out of luck. The DeLucas weren't exactly swimming in cash. He didn't think Maria ever went hungry--things weren't that bad, and she could always grab a meal at work if she had to--but he doubted they had any extra to bail out some loser, even if he was a relative. 

Unless... 

Springing up, he grabbed some socks and the other boot and sat back on the couch to pull them on. Isabel watched for a moment before asking, "What are you doing?" 

"Got an errand," he said brusquely, tying the lace on his second boot. Striding over to the door, he held it open and waited expectantly. 

She didn't take the hint. 

"Not that I don't approve of you acting like a gentleman, Michael, but what about your end of the bargain?" she demanded, not budging from her seat. "You have to try on the things I brought you." 

"No, I don't." 

"Michael! If you think--" 

He cut her off before her words could get any more heated. "I said I'd wear the stuff tomorrow," he said. "I will. But I didn't agree to any fashion show, Iz." 

"What if they don't fit?" 

"Then I'll 'alter' them," he bluffed. I need the practice, remember? But right now I gotta do something else, so go hang Christmas lights or something." 

Pressing her lips tightly together, Isabel rose and walked with great dignity to the door. "I expect to see you, in your new clothes, sometime between now and the movie tomorrow," she warned. "If not, I will be waiting outside the theatre with a camera, and you will have your picture taken, with Maria, in front of the building for all to see. Got it?" 

"Whatever," Michael said. He didn't have time for this. 

"I'm glad we have an understanding, then," she said firmly. 

Startling himself, Michael grabbed her arm before she could sweep through the door. "Iz? Uh...thanks," he said, and then rushed to clarify, "For the dreamwalking, not the new...for the dreamwalking." 

She rose up on her toes to look him straight in the eye, and smiled. "Whatever," she mimicked, and gave him a quick hug before heading down the hallway. 

Michael took a full ninety seconds to dread what was in the shopping bags she'd left; then he picked up his jacket and the slightly wrinkled manila envelope that lay under it and headed out.  
  
  



	52. Chapter 52

  
  
  


_**CHAPTER 52**_

Raising a clenched fist, Michael knocked on the motel room door. Loudly. 

If Laterro wasn't there, he'd try Mrs. DeLuca's shop, then the Crashdown, although he hoped to avoid that. He was feeling too out-of-control to deal with Maria right now, especially after the slew of messages she'd left on his answering machine yesterday, both before and after the DeLuca family dinner. The last one was the kicker: a spoken-so-fast-it-was-partially-incoherent message that was only ended by Alex taking the phone away from her. 

"You'd better call her, man," he'd said. "Not tonight; she's had a hard day, and she's hyped up on sugar and junk food--" 

"Am not!" Maria protested in the background, loudly enough to be picked up by the answering machine. 

"--and she's going to spend the night at Liz's. But first thing in the morning. Call her and get this straightened out, okay?" 

Of course, Michael hadn't. He'd actually meant to, he really had; but first thing in the morning for him had been 4:30 when he'd woken after a few restless hours of sleep, and there was no way he was going to piss off Maria by calling at that hour. Come to think of it, it would probably annoy Liz, too, though that was less vital an issue. Then he'd started practicing, and gotten all caught up in the ebb and flow of shifting molecules, of getting it perfect. He hadn't had any idea how much time had passed when Isabel burst in, and then he'd left to come here. To face Maria's uncle. 

He pounded on the door again, knowing but not caring that he'd abandoned any small sense of caution he might normally have possessed. He hadn't checked out the parking lot, hadn't kept an eye out for suspicious-looking passers-by, hadn't taken any of the paranoid precautions that were a part of his everyday life. He'd just stormed out of his apartment and made a beeline for this door. 

Said door swung open, and a jean-clad Theodore Laterro stood there, buttoning up his shirt. His brown hair looked damp, like he'd just gotten out of the shower. 

"What do _you_ want?" he demanded. 

"We gotta talk," Michael bit out. 

A sneer spread across the man's face. "Listen, punk, you have--" 

Refusing to acknowledge the name-calling, Michael interrupted. "I know why you're here." He noted with no small sense of gratification that the sneer faded from the man's face. When Laterro didn't move, Michael pushed past him into the motel room. The man made no protest, although he pointedly left the door open. Michael smirked. Smart move, although even the possibility of being seen wasn't going to keep him from bashing the asshole's face in if he-- 

Hold on. Taking a deep breath, he tried to stem the rushing swell of his temper. "How much?" he growled. 

"What?" 

"How much do you need?" 

Laterro laughed, a bit shakily, Michael thought. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

Sure, he didn't. "How much are you trying to scam off of Maria and Mrs. DeLuca?" Michael said point-blank. 

"You're insane. I'm not trying to scam anything from them. Not that it's any business of yours, but I just came for a family visit." The protest was quick enough, but Michael didn't buy it. 

"Yeah, right." Unbuttoning his jacket, he pulled out the manila envelope he'd brought with him. "I got close to six grand here," he said. "It's yours if you leave Roswell and never bother the DeLucas again." God, he sounded like a bad movie. 

Laterro's eyes were fixed on the envelope. "Where would a kid like you get six thousand dollars?" 

Michael kept his response short. "Family legacy." The irony was not lost on him. 

"Let's see it." 

Reaching in the envelope, he pulled out a wad of cash and held it up, then dropped it back in. "So do we have a deal?" 

"Yes, do you have a deal?" 

The icy voice came from the doorway. Reluctantly, Michael turned to see a white-faced Mrs. DeLuca standing there. 

Shit. Maybe he should have worried about the open door after all. 

Mrs. DeLuca took two steps into the room. "Are you taking the deal, Teddy? Are you going to take this boy's money?" 

Hey! Sparing half a second to silently protest being called a boy, when he was old enough--and had the legal right--to take care of himself, Michael spoke up. "Mrs. DeLuca--" 

"I wasn't speaking to you, Michael." Her voice hadn't gotten any warmer. For a moment Michael considered making a break for the door. He knew he was fast enough; he could probably get out with no problem. Even though she'd spoken to him, her attention was all on her brother. 

"Amy, I..." Laterro began; then his words petered out. For the first time, Michael felt a tiny pang of sympathy for the man--he'd had that needle-sharp, penetrating stare turned on him before and he knew what it was like. 

"Is that why you came back, Teddy? For money?" she demanded. "Gambling debts?" 

"I gave that up a long time ago," he protested. "You know that, Amy." 

She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a small cardboard box. "That's what I thought," she said. "Until I found this." Pulling out something silver, she dangled it up before her brother, challenging him. 

Michael looked at the box, then the thing she was holding. It looked like some sort of bracelet or something, and he suddenly realized where he'd seen it before: a gleam of metal in a partially opened box, in the back room of Mrs. DeLuca's shop. She'd turned white when she'd seen it. Kind of like she'd looked standing in the doorway just a few moments ago. She didn't look pale anymore, though. Now she just looked angry. 

Laterro seemed to recognize the bracelet, too, although he didn't look surprised by it. "Come on, Amy. You've had that back for years. So why the big fuss?" 

"The big fuss is that you swore you'd quit gambling when I gave this to you so you could pay off what you owed. And yet I found it at my shop, Teddy, ten years later. I can only assume you put it there." 

"I didn't put it there. I gave it back to John the next day." 

"John?" Mrs. DeLuca repeated, blinking a few times. She shook her head. "That doesn't explain things. You owed money..." 

"So I had a run of good luck," Laterro said with an off-hand shrug. "It was Grandmother's. I thought you'd want it back." 

"I would rather have a brother who didn't lie to me," she said, her voice noticeably bitter. 

"I didn't lie. I meant to stop. Things...just didn't work out that way." 

"Well, that's a big help. Instead of lying, you just don't have any follow-through." 

Michael wished they'd quit hauling out their dirty laundry in front of him. He'd just wanted to get the monkey off Maria's back, not to listen to this. Scowling, he shifted uncomfortably. 

The movement caught their attention; Laterro turned to him with a start. "Look, Amy, there's no need to discuss this in front of the kid." 

"The kid," Mrs. DeLuca repeated, "came here to try and help my family, which is more than I can say for you." She straightened to her full height and looked up at her younger brother. "That's it, Teddy. Take this." She tossed the bracelet at her brother, who fumbled to snatch it out of the air. "But that's all you're getting from the DeLuca family." 

Laterro's brow wrinkled. "It's not enough this time, Amy," he admitted. 

She pressed her lips tightly together. "It's all I can spare." 

Michael couldn't stand one more moment of seeing the raw emotion in her eyes. Trying to move silently, he edged towards the door. He wasn't silent enough. "And as for you, Michael, you and I are going to have a little talk about your behavior," Mrs. DeLuca said. 

At her words, Michael stiffened, then folded his arms across his chest. "Talk all you want. I did what I needed to." 

"No, Michael, you didn't. And that's why we _will_ talk. Be at my shop at two o'clock." 

"Whatever." 

"Not whatever. Two o'clock," she insisted. "And Michael? A manila envelope is no place to store that kind of money. Go start a bank account."  
  
  
*****  


The moment Michael slid into her shop, Amy locked the door and turned the 'closed' sign over. The boy looked startled, then a little worried. 

And well he should. 

Although she did have to give him credit for showing up. She had been far from certain that he would. 

"Did you get that bank account?" she asked sternly, determined to start off as she meant to continue. 

"Uh...yeah," Michael said, fumbling for a plastic-covered checkbook. He held it up for a moment, then thrust it back into his pocket. His chin rose. "Look, it wasn't a big deal. Nasedo sold Bob's car and gave me the cash." 

"Michael, you can't solve a problem by shoving money at it like that." 

"What planet are _you_ living on?" he scoffed. 

So young to be so cynical. "The same one you are, young man. Buying people off doesn't work; they always come back for more. Believe me, you can't afford it." 

"The money isn't that important," he began. 

"The money is very important," she corrected, not allowing him to downplay it. "For one thing, it can't be easy for a teenager to support himself. And for another, that money could be a nest egg for college. For your future." 

His voice was truculent. "I don't even know if I'm gonna have a future, okay? And I can take care of myself." 

"Michael, I don't care how old you think you are; you're not an adult yet." 

His eyes narrowed. "Technically, I'm older than you are." 

"What?" 

"This is my second lifetime, remember? And I don't need you or anyone else telling me what to do with it! I can make decisions for myself," he said, growing louder until he was almost shouting. 

She'd unintentionally struck a sore spot. "It's not that I'm trying to tell you what to do. It's--" 

He interrupted, his voice belligerent. "I'm gonna do what I need to do. I needed to do this, so I did." 

He just wasn't getting it. "Why?" That cut the wind from his sails. "Why did you need to do it?" 

"Look, I...why doesn't matter." 

Either he didn't want to tell her, or he didn't really know. "You did it for Maria. Oh, come on, Michael," she added with a shake of her head, "being an adult doesn't make me stupid. I am well aware how Maria feels about her uncle, though I've never known why. Maybe you can tell me." 

He swallowed. "You better ask her." 

"Uh-huh." Amy nodded. He was loyal to her daughter; she'd suspected as much. "Then tell me this--does Maria know you tried to buy her uncle off?" 

"What? That wasn't how it was, not exactly. I just..." His words slowed, and his eyes clouded over. "She didn't want him around, so I tried to make him go away." 

"And did you bother to tell her about your urge to play knight errant?" 

For some reason, he seemed to take more offense at this than at the age thing. "I'm not a knight, okay? I just..." He paused, searching for words, then lost a little of the tension he'd been carting around. Amy wasn't sure if he was even aware of it when he reached up and scratched an eyebrow. After a moment, he said, "She's gonna be pissed, huh." 

Amy studied him. He looked young, and more than a bit lost. "I don't think she'll be happy about it, no," she said. "While I appreciate that you wanted to make things easier for her, you can't always do that. That's part of life. And part of being an adult," she added. 

"I gotta tell her, don't I." It wasn't a question, but he didn't look happy about it. 

"I think you probably should, but it's not up to me." 

Michael nodded, then set his jaw firmly. "Right." He looked resolved; then his shoulders slumped and he let out a big sigh and mumbled something. Amy thought she caught the words "...screw this up." She decided not to ask. 

A few moments later, he turned back to her. "So...uh..." he began hesitantly. "Your brother...you're pretty mad, huh?" 

"At you or at him?" 

He drew back, eyes zooming to her face. Evidently he hadn't really considered the fact that Maria was not the only DeLuca who might be upset with him. "Uh...both, I guess." 

She relented; it wasn't fair to tease the boy. "I'm not angry with you, Michael. As for Teddy...I'm not really mad at him, either; I'm just sad." Sad and worried. 

He frowned. "He's in a lot of trouble, then?" 

Amy nodded. "He owes a lot of money," she admitted. 

"So he gets a job or something, like the rest of us. Starts paying it off." 

She couldn't help but chuckle at the image that produced. "This isn't a savings and loan, Michael. These are bookies. They have his IOUs." 

He was silent as he absorbed this. Then he said slowly, "What if they didn't?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, they gotta be keeping the IOUs somewhere, right? If we knew where they were, I could go in and, you know...get them." 

"That's ridiculous," she laughed. "Who do you think you are, James Bond?" 

"No. I'm an alien." One eyebrow raised, he added, "And I don't own a tux." 

Amy caught some of his sobriety. "It would be too dangerous. If you were caught, you could get arrested. Or worse." 

He shrugged. "So I won't get caught." At her look, he continued, "I've done harder stuff than this before." 

Amy decided it would be better for both their sensibilities if she didn't ask for details. Still, she was not going to allow him to get into further danger; his alien background already placed him in quite enough. "For someone who was trying to drum my brother out of town just this morning, you're awfully eager to help him out." 

"I'm wishy-washy," he said with a straight face. Amy couldn't tell for sure whether he was serious or joking. Either way, she didn't believe it. 

"Sure you are. Thank you for the offer, Michael, but I won't be taking you up on it. Remember, you can't go storming off to fix people's lives for them." 

"I didn't! I asked you about it!" he said with indignation. 

"But did you ask Teddy?" 

"I wouldn't be able to explain how I could get the IOUs," he stated baldly. "And I won't trust him with that." 

"I'm not asking you to. But I think we'll pass. I love my brother, but he needs to learn some responsibility, too." 

"You sure?" 

"Michael, I can't forbid you to do anything. I'm just asking you to please stay out of it." 

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes clearly troubled. Finally he said, "Okay." 

Amy was a little surprised and a lot relieved. "Okay?" 

"Yeah. Life was easier before I got sucked into all this human stuff anyway." 

Was that actually a joke? Letting out a chuckle, Amy teased, "You know, Michael, as long as my daughter is around, I think you've got more than enough human to go around." She pointed to the door. "Now go. Be free." She watched as, with no shortage of alacrity, he bolted for the door, unlocked it, and was gone.  
  
  
*****  


Crap. 

Once again he'd fucked things up. He'd blown getting Laterro out of town, he'd lost his temper with Maria's mother, and now, on top of it all, he had to apologize to Maria for something he wasn't even certain was an error. 

Mrs. DeLuca might see it as some sort of knightly action, running to slay the dragon, but he hadn't done it out of bravery or any of that altruistic crap. He just wanted things to go back to normal, where Maria didn't get upset with anybody but him. That was what he was used to. Not that it mattered, because he'd failed anyway. If Laterro left town now, it was due entirely to Mrs. DeLuca. He should've known the DeLuca women could care for themselves. 

But maybe he didn't have to tell Maria right away. After all, they had the date tomorrow, and Michael didn't want to screw that up, not when things were finally falling into place. Besides, Isabel had gone to a lot of trouble to get him ready for it. He shouldn't do anything to mess that up. 

With a disdainful snort at the direction his thoughts had taken, Michael started across the street. He was in bad shape if he was going to let Isabel's efforts--efforts forced on him, no less--stop him from doing what he wanted to. 

Except he didn't want to, not yet. 

So which would piss Maria off more: ruining their date by ticking her off, or having her find out later that he had put off telling her about it? 

The hell with it. He was a live-for-the-moment, don't-worry-about-the-consequences kind of guy. Leave the worrying to Max. Michael was going to have a good day--no, an excellent day. He'd deal with the inevitable fallout later. 

His mind made up, he continued in the direction of his apartment. He'd go back there and spend some more time on his project. He'd made some good headway with it this morning, but he had a way to go before he was ready to attempt the final step. 

His long steady stride quickly ate up the distance and he was soon unlocking his apartment door. He took a moment to grab the bags Isabel had left on his counter and chuck them--unopened--into the closet. Out of sight, out of mind. He'd worry about them when he had to. 'Til then he'd get back to practicing his powers. 

Or maybe he should call Maria first, since he hadn't this morning. He didn't really want to talk to her--he was afraid he'd slip and tell her about her uncle--but he wanted things to go smoothly tomorrow, too. Maybe he should just get it over with. 

Actually, it would probably be a pretty good time to call her. If he remembered right, she'd be on a shift at the Crashdown, so she wouldn't have much time to talk, not like she would at home. He could hold out for a few minutes. Just say hi and make the final arrangements for their date, then get off the phone before he let something slip. That would be perfect. 

A decision made, he crossed over to the telephone, mentally practicing conversation openings. _Hey, Maria. Just wanted to check in about tomorrow._ That sounded lame. _So, what're we ending up seeing?_ Except he didn't really want to know. As with Isabel's gift of clothing, he'd put off that knowledge as long as possible. 

But it didn't really matter. The light on his answering machine was blinking. Relieved at an excuse to put off the call for a few minutes, and leery that the message might be from Maria herself, Michael hesitated a moment before pressing _Play_. 

The voice that echoed tinnily from the tiny speaker wasn't Maria's, though. It was Max. 

"Michael, we're getting together this evening to work on the code book some more. 6:00 at Tess's. Call me if you want a ride." 

So much for working on the project. Not even a request--just an order to come. Max was obsessing too much about what was basically a futile effort. Still, not long ago it would've been Michael doing the obsessing, and Max going along for the ride. The least Michael could do was follow along. But first he'd better call Maria, and fast, before he talked himself out of it altogether.  
  
  
TBC...  
  



	53. Chapter 53

**_CHAPTER 53_**

"...and he didn't even mention it, Liz!" Maria clutched her cell phone as she dropped her bag on her dresser. "Not only does he blow me off for dinner, and run out on me at the Crashdown, and ignore me all day, but when he _finally_ calls, it's all 'Hey, Maria,' like nothing happened." She sat on the end of her bed, studying the message in lip liner that still covered her mirror. It made it harder to get ready in the mornings, trying to see her reflection between the strokes of the scrawled message, but she still wasn't going to get rid of it.

"Maybe he didn't know how to talk to you about it," Liz was saying on the other end.

"No, he's all 'How's it going?' and then he said _he_ needed to go. So what was the whole point of calling me in the first place?"

"You did leave him a message asking him to call you," Liz reminded. "He called you back; isn't that an improvement from last time?"

"I guess. It was just infuriating. I mean, it's like one step forward, seventeen steps back with him, you know? At this rate, after the movie tomorrow, he'll probably forget we even met."

"Well, that's not terribly likely," Liz pointed out.

With a sigh, Maria admitted, "I know that. But that doesn't make it any easier, you know?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "Maria, you're not having second thoughts, are you? About the date?"

"Of course not, Liz. Why would I have second thoughts?" Maria protested as she sat on the edge of her bed. "It's just... well, the last time Spaceboy and I went on a date it didn't work out so well, remember? And it didn't help to have you and Mr. Perfect Evans there showing us up."

"Neither Max nor I will be at your date tomorrow, so you don't have to worry about it."

"I'm not worried. I mean, I'm going to be spending time with Michael, which is what I want. Plus, he promised I could pick the movie."

"He did?"

"Uh-huh. Except now I can't decide what to choose. I mean, I could make him see something he'd never in a million years choose, like _What Women Want_, but it's not as fun if he's not going to argue about it." Maria found herself smiling. "Or we could see _Vertical Limit_, which he'd probably hate a lot less, but then it's kind of like he won, you know?"

"Comedy?" Liz asked.

"Nothing good playing."

"Horror?"

"I think we've had enough of that around here without watching it on film, thank you very much."

Liz chuckled. "I know what you mean, 'Ria."

"Oh well, it's still two hours in a dark theater with Michael," Maria said, feeling a little more upbeat. "And if I play my cards right, maybe we won't see much of the movie anyway."

"Maria!" But her best friend didn't sound shocked, just amused.

* * *

With a grunt, Michael dropped down onto the couch, ignoring greetings from the Evans siblings. He crossed his arms over his chest and wondered how long he'd be stuck there before he could escape. 

"Can I get you something to drink?" Tess offered brightly, playing the perfect hostess. "A Coke or something?"

Michael emitted another grunt, this one slightly in the affirmative. Tess seemed to get it, though; with a small smile, she headed for the kitchen.

"You're late," Max said calmly as he shuffled through the copies Michael had drawn during their last translation attempt.

"Yeah, so?" Michael waited a moment; when it became obvious that neither Max nor Isabel was going to comment further, he asked, "So what's the plan of attack this time, Commander-in-Chief?"

"We'll keep trying to decipher the book," Max said. Michael gave a derisive snort.

"It worked last time," Isabel pointed out. "You made the connection between the book and the handprints in the cave."

"Yeah, for all the good that did us," Michael grumbled half-heartedly, but he reached for the book. "Okay, fine then. What do you want me to do? Make more copies?"

"You mean you'd actually follow our instructions?" Isabel said.

"This is Maximillian's little project, not mine. Not yours either, Iz--so you don't need to give me any instructions, do you?" He turned to Max. "So copies or what?"

"We already started a chart of the symbols," Tess put in as she re-entered the room. "How many times they occur and in what combinations. We could continue with that." She set a soft drink on a coaster in front of Michael. Grabbing it, he took a swig, savoring the heat of the hot sauce she'd added.

"So hand it over then," he added, reaching out again for the book. "I'll do more copies and you guys can count."

"How's the practice coming?" Isabel asked as Max handed over the metal-paged volume, then tossed a pencil to Michael.

"Practice?" Max asked.

"Michael's been working on his powers," she reminded him. "So how's it going?"

Taking a moment to focus, Michael summoned up a small ball of light and sent it careening around the room, darting over Tess' head and circling around them, much like the obstacle course he and Alex had set up in his apartment. When he finally let it flicker out of existence, he looked over at his rather startled friends. "Dunno. You tell me."

"Michael, that was incredible!" Tess breathed.

"Yeah, they call me the Amazing Firefly," he said with a shrug.

Isabel, though no less impressed, was more practical. "What about the rest?"

"Changing metal still sucks," Michael admitted. And he'd worked on that. A lot. "But other stuff is getting easier."

"That's great, Michael," Max put in, his voice warm.

"Yeah, we'll save a fortune on fireworks come July," Michael said sarcastically.

"Or the next time we have a power outage."

"Shut up, Iz."

"Or need to jumpstart a car," she added.

"Michael's not so good in the automotive industry," Max pointed out with a grin. "Remember when he blew up the Jetta?"

"Shut _up_, Maxwell."

Tess, who'd been watching the back-and-forth like a spectator at a tennis match, smiled. "Too bad he can't jumpstart our brains, then, so we could read the rest of the book." Michael opened his mouth to retort, but before any words could come, what she'd said registered. He glanced over at Max, then Isabel. From their expressions, they were on the same track as he was, but no one said anything. Maybe they were scared to. Not that he was scared, exactly, but what if it would actually work? Finally Tess broke the silence. "What did I say?"

What the hell. "Jumpstart isn't the right word," Michael said slowly. "But if I can connect with you and--"

Isabel leaned forward. "Nudge?"

"--maybe it can get us through this block."

The rush of excitement Michael felt didn't show on his best friend's face. "I don't know. It could be risky," Max said slowly.

Bridling, Michael shot to his feet. "I'm supposed to be good at making connections, right? Or at least I was, that's what Nasedo said. Maybe that's the reason I was included in on this whole interplanetary rebirth thing, anyway. I sure wasn't one of the Royals, remember?"

Tess' voice was plaintive as she asked, "Would somebody please explain what you're all talking about?"

Max looked at his second. "Michael?"

"Go ahead and tell her. I don't want to talk about it," Michael said after a moment. He began to pace across the room, his mind busy, only half listening as Isabel and Max told Tess what they knew of his history. Nasedo had said he was good at making connections, right? That was his specialty, before his sister's death transformed him into some kind of a power plant. And he'd been concentrating on the other side of his powers, trying to get a strong enough handle on them to finish his secret project. He hadn't tried connecting with anyone since he and Nasedo had dealt with the other shapeshifter--Michael didn't want to think of him as his uncle. Maybe he should have been practicing connections instead.

Max could connect; he did it when he healed, and so did Isabel, to dreamwalk. But if it had been Michael's strong suit, how much better could he be at it? Maybe he could connect all four of them, kind of like the way the light in the cave had zoomed through their handprints. Maybe he could--

He heard his name, pulling him from his thoughts. The three others faced him. He didn't look at Tess; he didn't want any more pity. Max looked a little grim.

"Let's try it," he said. "I have the most experience with connections, so try with me."

Suddenly, Michael didn't feel so sure of things. What if he reverted back to his old self and screwed it up? Messed up Max's brain, the way he'd messed his own up...or even worse, blew his best friend up?

"No. It should be me." Tess sounded very firm, and quite unworried. "If it's an experiment, we shouldn't risk you, Max. You're the king. Besides, Michael knows both of you better than me. If he can connect with me, it should be even easier with you two."

Michael found himself, somewhat to his surprise, still reluctant. "I don't want to blow you up, either," he said gruffly. He could hardly miss how Tess' eyes lit up. Did she really feel so left out of things that not wishing her a gruesome death was a prize? Michael decided he didn't want to think about it.

"Yeah, whatever," he said, not really in response to anything. "So we gonna do this or what?"

"Yes," Tess said without hesitation. She pushed him back over to his former spot on the couch and shoved the glasses, books and papers aside to perch on the coffee table in front of him. "Go ahead, then."

"Uh, I'm just gonna try to connect and then, I don't know, give you a boost or something," Michael said, feeling awkward as he reached out to her. "I gotta touch you, I think." But Tess, with no reluctance, slipped her hand into his.

Michael cast one glance over at Isabel and Max. "If it looks like something's going wrong, stop me," he ordered. Max nodded gravely.

"Nothing's going to go wrong," Isabel assured him.

Somehow, he wasn't entirely convinced. Still, he'd give it a shot. Tightening his fingers around Tess's hand--and noticing that it was even smaller than Maria's, and that her fingers were cold--he took a breath and closed his eyes.

The connection came easily, and with more confidence Michael addressed himself to the matter at hand. When he'd connected to Nasedo in order to imprison Bob, he'd needed a lot of prodding from the shapeshifter to get the connection in place. This time, it came without effort, and he could feel Tess's power building as he fed it.

Loud laughter, male and female, pulled him away from his focus; he snatched his hand away from Tess's, opening his eyes.

"What?" he snapped.

But Max and Isabel weren't looking at him. They sat, hunched over, laughter exploding out of them. Isabel actually looked less poised than Michael had ever seen before. She looked at Tess and gasped out, "Kyle Valenti in a _tutu_?"

"Many, many Kyles in tutus," Max corrected her, still laughing. "I lost count after eight."

Michael swung around to look at Tess in confusion. "It was so easy!" she said. "Almost no work at all. And I kept adding images and it never got any harder."

Isabel was a little calmer now, though a wide smile still graced her face. "But why that particular image?"

"I wanted to show you something you knew wasn't real," Tess explained. "Besides," she added with a shrug as she stood and moved back around to the other side of the coffee table, "Kyle's got good legs."

"Oh?" Max said quizzically. "I hadn't noticed."

"If we can cut the comedy, maybe we can focus on the fact that it actually worked," Michael said rather roughly.

"Well, of course it worked," Isabel replied, sounding indignant. "I told you it would, didn't I?"

Michael didn't exactly remember it like that, but whatever. It wouldn't pay to argue with her about it, not when there were more important things to think about.

"Try me next," Isabel commanded.

"Since when do you get to give me orders?" Michael grumbled, but he reached for her hand. It was even easier this time, as if connecting to Tess had just been a mild warm-up. And then he was reaching across for Tess with his free hand, and pulling her into the mix. The power thrumming through them felt different now--more complex and yet purer at the same time. Concentrating, he barely saw the two girls reach out and change the coffee table between them from wood to plastic, then metal and glass. It flowed from form to form like liquid.

Max grabbed for Isabel's free hand. Without really thinking about it, Michael reached through the golden-brown that was Isabel until he found the deep green that was Max, and pulled him into the connection.

It felt complete. He could do anything, mend anything, control everything, destroy the world, hold back death... anything he wanted. Nothing could stop him. He just needed to stretch out his hand and—-

But his hands were being held, and he couldn't release them. He couldn't get free. What had happened to his power? He was caught. Trapped--

"No!" he shouted, yanking his hands from the girls' and breaking the connection. Blinking, he sat collapsed in his seat, taking deep, shuddering breaths. The others looked at each other, not saying anything. Finally, Max spoke.

"Well..." he breathed, then trailed off.

"That was amazing!" Tess piped up. Smiling, she raised a shaking hand to push her hair behind her ear, then dropped into an empty chair.

"Quite a rush," Isabel agreed. "If you could bottle that, you'd make a fortune."

Strange, thought Michael. None of them seemed to have had the same experience he had. Otherwise they'd be acting a little more…well, weirded out by it all. He certainly was.

"You guys didn't...you know, lose control?"

"No, nothing like that," Isabel said. "It just felt like I could see everything. Like I was flying above the world, and I could see everything people did, or said, even what they thought."

"Like dreamwalking everyone at once?" asked Max. His sister nodded.

"It wasn't like that for me," Tess put in. "But I could control them. Make them all see whatever I wanted them to, without even trying. If I wanted to."

That wasn't particularly reassuring. "What about you, Maxwell?" Michael asked.

Max looked at Isabel. "I could see, too, but I could see everything wrong. Sickness, death, poverty, pain...It was almost overwhelming. I could see it all, and I knew I could fix it. All of it. Without even breaking a sweat."

"Great. I'm surrounded by Sally the Psychic, Machiavelli, and Mother Teresa on steroids," Michael burst out.

"You didn't feel it?" Max asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I felt it. All of it. It felt...powerful."

Isabel frowned. "And that's bad?" she asked.

Bad? It hadn't felt bad at all, not until the end. That part wasn't so good. "Dunno."

"In any case, we proved that you can connect us," Max said.

"For all the good it does us."

"But wasn't that the whole point?" Tess put in, maddeningly reasonable.

"Thought the point was to try and read the book, not to make you three all-powerful," Michael snapped.

Max frowned. "I don't think that's what we meant, Michael."

"Oh yeah? Then how come I--" Michael cut himself off. "Well, anyway, are we going to try and read this thing or not?"

"Michael--" Isabel scolded, sounding exasperated.

"Well?" he said, not backing down.

"Let's see if connecting helped," Max said, trying to calm things. Reaching for the book, he opened it and studied the first page, then flipped through it, stopping here and there. Finally he looked up. "Nothing." Some of the excitement in Tess's eyes died down, and Isabel sighed. "We'd better continue on the way we were," Max directed.

Michael rolled his eyes. Great. More copying, then. He reached out and grabbed the book.

Tess's and Isabel's hands got there first. "Let me take--"

"I'd like to--"

Both cut off as Michael's hand joined theirs on the book Max was holding out. Or rather as a light shot up from the page under Michael's hand and spread in a sudden burst to where Max held on, then to Isabel's hand and Tess's. The light flashed into such brightness Michael could hardly see anything, then with a quick flicker it died out as suddenly as it had come.

"What the hell?" He let go of the book and leaned back into the couch, blinking hard to try and clear his head.

But Max was still staring at the book, and so were the others. "I can read it!" Isabel said, her voice quivering in excitement. Max nodded, his eyes scanning the pages.

Michael glanced sideways at the book. "Yeah, of course you can read it. It's in English, Iz." Sure enough, the alien characters had shifted to familiar letters.

"So it didn't really need to jumpstart our brains, it just needed to translate itself," Max said.

"Maybe it needed to read our minds to know how to translate it," mused Isabel.

"And it must have needed all four of us touching it to set it off," Tess added, trying to read the page upside down from her spot across the coffee table.

"That has got to be the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Three heads turned away from the book. "Michael," Isabel began. "Do you always have to be so rude? Tess is absolutely right--"

"Not Tess. I _know_ she's right--I was here when the whole thing happened, remember? I mean the idiots who wrote the thing. Making it take all four of us to be able to read it? Stupid. What if one of us had been killed or something? Where would their fantastic plan to save the world be then, huh?"

"Guys? I don't read upside down very well, even if it is in English," Tess broke in. "What does it say?"


	54. Chapter 54

_**CHAPTER 54**_

Slumping back into the recesses of the couch, Michael watched as Isabel and Tess clustered around Max. Their erstwhile leader was still holding the book he'd just finished reading aloud, the pages that were all about the king and his link to the planet, and to his people along with it. The being who would be reborn, to save the planet and those people, according to prophecy. The king who inhabited the body of his best friend.

Only problem was, it didn't say _how_ Max was supposed to do it. All it talked about was how vital this 'king-bond' was to the health of the planet, like the whole planet was some sort of symbiotic parasite, needing its partner to thrive. Just like Bob had told him, before he was forcibly shifted into concrete...

Michael shook his head, deliberately ignoring the girls as they jabbered away at Max. He'd thought the connection he'd forced on Maria was bad - though she didn't seem to mind. How much worse was this link of Max's? He hadn't had much choice about it, either. Sure, given the chance to help all those people--as long as it didn't hurt any of the people he cared about--Max would say yes. Hell, even _Michael_ would probably say yes. But it wasn't up to him.

"I don't know," said Max, answering a question Michael hadn't heard. "It's a lot to take in."

"So do you feel it, Max? This link with our planet?" Tess asked with excitement.

Frowning, he replied, "I don't think so. At least, I can't tell anything's there."

"Well, home is a long way away," she offered.

Uh-oh. She didn't know. But then she hadn't been there when Nasedo had confirmed it, that night in his apartment. And no one had thought to tell her... "Tess?" Michael blurted. "It's not home. Not any more."

She looked up at him, her brow wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

"We can't go back there. When they recreated us, they had to change us so we could live here on Earth," he explained, looking down at his hands to avoid her eyes. "We can't go back."

"How do you know?" she whispered after a moment.

"Nasedo."

"Oh." He glanced at her then. She bit her lip, then tossed her head. "What's next, then, Max?" she asked, turning back to the king.

"I don't know," Max admitted. "It's good to know what the book says. But it's not enough. We need to know more before we can plan anything."

Michael wasn't so sure waiting was a good idea. Now that they finally had a clue what was going on... Maybe there was a rush. It had already been fifty years. If their planet was--no, it wasn't their planet anymore. They were stuck with Earth. But if that other planet needed its king-link to thrive, what had happened to it during those years while Max was in the pod? For all they knew, the whole planet could be dead, and all its people with it. If not, maybe it needed help, and fast.

And, once again, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He had the sudden urge to punch something. Hard. Instead, he stood. "I got stuff to do anyway," he said.

Max nodded. "Okay. Let's meet up to talk about this again later in the week, once we've had some time to think. And we should let the others know about it."

"Let me guess, Max. You'll call Liz?" asked Isabel.

"She's very logical. She can probably help us figure out-" He paused when he saw the smile bloom on his sister's face. "Yes. I'll call Liz."

"Kyle," claimed Tess quickly.

"I've got Alex. That leaves you with Maria, Michael." Michael grunted, and Isabel continued, "It's good. Now you'll have something to talk about on your date."

"Yeah, right. We're going to a movie. She'll be pissed if I talk during it."

"Then you'll just have to get her alone afterwards, won't you?" she pressed.

If he was able to get Maria alone, it certainly wouldn't be to talk about the book. But he limited his comments to a scornful headshake, and strode to the door. He'd go take his frustration out on a few inanimate objects. With luck, he could get some good practice in.

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Michael knocked on the Evanses' back door the next day. Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he shifted nervously from foot to foot.

If he was this uneasy right now, how was he going to be when he saw Maria? Swallowing convulsively, he tried to ignore the queasiness in his belly.

This was stupid. It was just Isabel. She'd vet his appearance, he'd ignore all her comments, and then he'd be off to pick Maria up...if you could call it picking up when you didn't have a car. But it was no big deal. It was just a date, right? He'd had them before. Well, one, officially. Of course, it had sucked...

The door swinging open pulled him out of his thoughts. But it wasn't his almost-sister who stood there.

"Maxwell."

"Hi, Michael," his best friend answered as he moved aside to let Michael enter.

"Thought you'd be at work," Michael commented.

"The furnace at the U.F.O. Center broke down, and Milton can't get a new one installed until next week, so we're shut down."

"You could fix it."

"I could, but then I wouldn't get a Christmas vacation, would I? And I'm not going to risk the attention. Besides, Isabel has been bugging me for help with the Christmas prep anyway."

"Better you than me," Michael muttered.

Leading the way into the kitchen, Max turned to study him. "So this is the famous date outfit?"

"Yeah. What about it?" Michael shot out, feeling suddenly very defensive.

A voice came from behind him. "It's almost perfect."

"What do you mean, almost?" Michael swung warily around to face Isabel.

"Take off your jacket," she ordered. "Let me see the whole thing."

Michael didn't move. "You can see the whole thing just fine, Iz."

"Jacket. Off," she insisted.

With a sigh, Michael shrugged out of his jacket, feeling suddenly unprotected. Which was stupid, because the simple denim of the jacket wasn't exactly going to stop a bullet or anything. Isabel grabbed it from his hands, then thrust it at her brother so she could study the entire ensemble.

"Almost perfect," she repeated to herself.

Michael couldn't figure out what the problem was. He had--only somewhat reluctantly--put on the garments. He'd even given in to her demand and cleaned up his boots, though he'd had to use some manual labor to get them looking okay enough to pass muster with Iz.

He wasn't about to tell her that, after getting dressed, he'd looked into the bathroom mirror--carefully avoiding his ruined cheek--and gotten as good a view of himself as he could manage in the small looking glass.

Then he'd undressed and taken the second shower of the morning. He'd even shaved.

It wasn't really that bad. He didn't feel exactly uncomfortable or anything; somehow Isabel had done a decent job with the fit. There was, to Michael's great relief, no necktie or girly color involved, just a simple long-sleeved black t-shirt, a soft burgundy pullover sweater, and dark gray cargo pants. He didn't feel stupid, or foolish, or anything. He just didn't feel quite like himself.

But he wasn't going to admit any of it to Isabel, or Max, for that matter.

She reached up towards him. At his involuntary twitch she snapped, "Hold still. I need to fix this."

Fix what? Confused, he looked down and watched her smooth away some non-existent wrinkles. She studied him clinically, then reached out once more.

"Enough," he said, stepping back. "We done yet?"

Isabel's eyes rose to meet his. "I suppose so. You actually look very nice, Michael."

Yeah. Like 'nice' was his goal in life. "Whatever." Putting his hand out towards Max, Michael snapped, "Jacket."

But the garment that was laid over his arm was not the familiar, faded denim.

"What the hell's this?"

"Your jacket," Max answered with an all-too-innocent look.

Right. "I'm not an idiot, you know. I can remember what I put on half an hour ago." He glared down at the sleek black leather hanging off his outstretched arm. "This isn't mine."

"It is now."

"Come on, Maxwell. Hand over the real one," Michael said, growing irritated. He didn't have time for this.

"But this one will look so much better," Isabel interjected. "Besides, I think Maria has a thing for leather."

"Yeah?" Michael asked, his interest piqued. She _had_ worn head-to-toe black leather that one day during the so-called 'Spirit Week'. She'd looked pretty damn appetizing in it, too...But that wasn't the point. "Well, so what?" he added quickly. "Look, just give me my jacket."

"Michael, just take it already!"

"You know I don't do Christmas--" he snapped.

"Who said anything about Christmas?"

"And I sure as hell don't take charity!"

Max sighed. "Michael, it's not charity."

"Yeah, and I'm President of the Chess Club."

"Really? I didn't know you played chess," Isabel put in dryly. "I wouldn't have thought that strategy was your strong suit."

"I don't want--"

"All right. Have it your way," Max said with another sigh. Reaching into the broom closet behind him, he pulled out the familiar denim. "Here."

Michael looked at him, easily reading the disappointment that his best friend wasn't even trying to hide. Why did Max have to make him feel guilty for wanting to be independent?

Not bothering to stifle the curse that came to his lips, Michael ignored the jacket Max held out and slid into the black leather. The scent of it teased his nostrils, and he took a deep breath of it before facing the others, glaring a challenge at them.

Smiles graced both faces. "Thanks, Michael," Max said simply.

Michael shrugged, the leather moving easily with the motion. "Thought that was supposed to be my line," he muttered.

"We know you too well for that," Isabel said, but her tone was warm.

That was hardly fair. The concept of gratitude wasn't entirely foreign to him. He'd thanked Isabel just yesterday, for dreamwalking Maria's uncle. That wasn't exactly out of the habit. Of course, that had been part of the bargain that had gotten him into this whole new clothes mess in the first place...

Some of his thoughts must have hinted their way across his face, because Isabel rushed on, "You'd better get moving, Michael, or you're going to be late."

With a start, Michael glanced at the wall clock. She was wrong; he had plenty of time to walk over to Maria's. But he grasped onto the excuse without hesitation.

"Yeah. Gotta go," he mumbled. Without looking at either of them, he headed for the door.

"See you, Michael," Max said behind him, while Isabel ordered knowingly, "Have fun!"

With a small shake of the head, Michael let himself out the back door. He hadn't gotten very far when he heard Max calling after him.

"Hey, Michael!"

"What?" he answered with a sigh as he turned back around to face his friend, who was standing in the doorway.

"Check out the pockets."

"What?" he repeated, but thrust his hands into the pockets of the leather jacket. His fingers met with something cool and hard. Fishing it out, he realized he held a familiar set of keys. Jeep keys.

Max grinned at him. "Have it back by morning!" he called, then disappeared back inside.

Michael was left standing there, keys in hand, speechless.

Swallowing hard, Michael took one last look behind him at the street. There was no one there, he noted with relief, to see him humiliate himself. If he did humiliate himself. Iz and Max seemed to think he'd be okay, but he wasn't sure about it. Still, time to bite the bullet.

He took a deep breath and strode up to the DeLucas' front door. He was going to get this right if it killed him. Which it just might do. Squaring his shoulders, he knocked. Well, actually, he meant to knock, but it came out more like pounding. Great. He was already off to a bad start.

He waited for a few moments, watching the door. It didn't open. He raised his fist to knock again, but let it drop before it hit the door. Maybe he had the wrong time. He didn't own a watch, after all. And he was probably early, since he had driven from the Evans house rather than walking. Or maybe she'd just changed her mind, and didn't want to go out with him. Maybe she wasn't even there. He turned to look, but there was no sign of the Jetta--maybe she'd left so she wouldn't have to run into him. Maybe her mother had told her about her uncle, and she was pissed at him. He frowned. He should have told her about it when he'd had the chance, but no, he'd put it off. Looks like it was backfiring on him now, wasn't it? Gritting his teeth, he turned away.

He was three steps away from the door when he heard her. "Going somewhere, Spaceb--" Her voice cut off mid-word as Michael spun around so fast that he almost fell over.

"Hey," he said.

Maria was staring at him.

"What?" he demanded, knowing his tone sounded harsh but not able to change it.

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

She looked at him long enough for him to become fidgety. Then, a smile slowly spread across her lips. "Spaceboy..." she said finally, "You clean up good."

"Uh...it was Isabel," he admitted.

"Well, she does really good work."

"Uh, so...you ready?"

"Just let me get my jacket," she said, and whirled back inside the house. Michael let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. As she reappeared in the doorway, he held up Max's keys.

"I got the Jeep, so..."

Maria smiled at him, this time almost blinding him with it. "Let's go, then."

Maria eyed him, not bothering to hide her interest, as she sat in the Jeep's passenger seat. He didn't return the favor, but his fingers tightened on the steering wheel, she noted.

As far as she was concerned, the date could have ended right then and it still would have been the best she'd been on. Michael--stubborn, so-not-the-perfect-boyfriend Michael--had picked her up in an actual car--Jeep--vehicle or whatever, and had worn an obviously new--and pretty darn flattering--outfit. She wasn't surprised that Isabel had had a hand in it, but still, he'd worn it. He'd made the effort.

She could feel herself grinning.

"What?" Michael demanded, although he kept his attention focused on the road.

"I can't believe I was nervous about this," Maria admitted with a laugh.

This got his attention. "What, about you and me?"

"No, not about us, but about the date itself. The last time we tried it, it didn't work out so well."

"Maria..." he began.

"No, Michael, it was my fault too. I had all these crazy expectations of what it should be, and I tried to impose them on reality, instead of just enjoying being together. Which is all I'm looking for today," she rushed to assure him.

Michael's jaw tightened. "I tried to do what Max would do, and screwed things up. But I'm not Max."

"No, you're Michael. And I don't want Max, I want you."

His shoulders relaxed. Almost imperceptibly, but not quite; she still saw. "Okay then," he said.

"But that's why I was so nervous, I think. I didn't want you to, you know, think I was trying to pressure you into anything."

"That's not your M.O., Maria. You don't _try_ to pressure people into stuff. You just jabber at them until they give in, in self-defense." He shot a glance at her, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, but she felt herself smiling.

"So, nervous?" he said, going back to the point.

"Not any more. But you should see my room. I've got clothes draped everywhere. I must have tried on fourteen different outfits." Not that Michael had given any sign that he'd noticed what she was wearing.

"You should have had Isabel tell you what to wear. It makes things simpler."

"And she has excellent taste," Maria said. "You look really nice, Spaceboy."

He didn't look at her, but she thought with some amusement that his face reddened.

"'Course, you're pretty good-looking anyway, even without the clean clothes." It wasn't really teasing if it was honest, was it? And yep, there was the red again.

Michael made a valiant effort to change the subject. "So what are we seeing, anyway?"

"Blushing aliens," Maria continued irrepressibly.

"Would you cut it out?"

Letting out a purposely dramatic sigh, Maria relented. "I don't know why you have a problem with me complimenting my boyfriend, but fine. So, the movie?"

"Yeah?"

"After careful consideration of what's playing, I decided that what you really need to see most is 'The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.'"

There was silence from the driver's seat.

"But since, from what I hear, Isabel has already tried to foist the Christmas spirit off onto you, with no success, we'll be avoiding that one."

"Good."

"Besides, Jim Carrey or no Jim Carrey, it can't possibly be as good as the original. So you're getting a reprieve."

"Good," he repeated.

"Even though I could probably be more persuasive than Isabel," she mused. "Plus, you agreed I could choose. So if I really wanted to see the Grinch, we probably would."

"Maria-" he began, then took a deep breath.

She grinned at him, then pointed out the window. "There's a parking spot," she said before he could get out whatever it was he'd been about to say. "Come on, Spaceboy. I'm in the mood for some popcorn."


End file.
